The Garden
by amyblair
Summary: The Winchesters arrive in a small town in Nebraska to investigate bizarre happenings, but not everything they discover is what it seems. The boys are faced with a whole new kind of supernatural & faced with coming together as brothers & partners again
1. Chapter 1

**The Garden**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Kripke and the Gang would have those honors.

**A/N:** Set after Heaven and Hell. I've already written the entire thing and there will be six chapters. I will post one every two or three days. It's got my usual: a hunt, a laugh or two, somebody might get hurt, a couple of brothers, some pain… Thanks to my beta, MAZ101. I was so reluctant to finally accept help from a beta and, to be honest, having MAZ on my side has been as cool as finding the people in this fandom. I love the marks you leave, MAZ. No matter what color they are.

**Chapter One: Ginger Snaps**

Christmas Eve 2008

"Sam!" Dean's voice boomed into the night air. He swiveled to the left, spun to the right. _Goddamn._ No Sam. He had just been right there, walking with him. Hell, he had been talking - being a pain in the ass - and then… nothing. Just silence. There had been no sounds of struggle, no one calling out his name. Just nothing. _What the…_

Dean traced the area again, his third time, the flashlight in his hand now, beaming from above, scanning the area quickly and methodically. He crouched down, looking for clues. He'd take anything – rumpled brush, drag tracks, blood. Anything. Nothing was worse than vanishing into thin air. But that's what it looked like so far.

His brother was just gone.

"Shit," Dean breathed, rising back to a standing position. He tilted his head up. Just the endless black sky looking back down. Way down. No stars. Not even a moon tonight. It was suddenly too dark. Each time he shifted his sight, shifted his body, his eyes had to refocus to the pitch black surrounding him.

"Sam!" From his gut that time. He meant business. If Sam didn't hear him, he'd make sure whatever took him did.

But the only thing that answered him was his own voice ricocheting back to him.

He took a few reluctant steps away from the last spot where he had seen his brother. He tramped through a patch of dead sunflowers, hanging taller then his own build. They moved stiffly against his push and seemed to pull back to him. Dormant florets acted like miniature daggers as they pricked the sides of his cheeks. The smells were everywhere, some sweet, some sour as he forged on, trying to ignore the assault on his senses. A group of holly bush scraped his thighs to the right as he emerged from the dead flowers back onto the beaten path he and Sam had followed in the beginning.

Fresh dirt. Right there in front of him the whole fucking time. The path the angel had directed them to. Damned arrows.

The air changed directions as Dean's boot hit the ground and the foliage around him fussed noisily, stirring uneasily. A bulky figure off to the left caught his immediate attention. It moved like a human, well balanced and graceful for its size. It stood quiet and cool, with its back to the hunter. Dean raised his Colt out in front of him and pulled back the hammer.

"Don't move," he warned bitterly, closing the gap between himself and the misty shape. He kept his hand steady, the gun held comfortably in his grip like it belonged there. His eyes narrowed and he canted his head to the right.

What he saw almost took his breath away. The thing turned its body slowly around, letting Dean Winchester get a good look at its true form. When it spoke, it was unrecognizable, its voice a husky rumble. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me."

God, did he ever.

Dean swallowed, flashing a feral smile. "Just one. Where the fuck is my brother?"

***

_The day before…_

It had been over six weeks since it happened. Over six weeks since Anna had entered their lives for too short of a time. Sacrificed herself for the greater good and flew back to the city of angels. Wherever that was. Whatever that was. Definitely not here. The earth seemed somehow smaller without her in it. Less colorful. Things didn't taste as good. Birds sounded flat. She must have taken part of life with her in that bright light.

It had been a quiet six weeks as well. They'd helped Bobby on a couple of occasions, but besides a Thanksgiving acheri that was taken down, the only other job in their laps had been a haunted house. Turned out to be just a family of raccoons. Scared the shit out of Dean. _What the hell do we do? Call an exterminator?_ They actually did try to get rid of them, but in the end they put bullets inside them all.

Some things were just easier to shoot.

There hadn't been any sign of Castiel or Uriel. Even Ruby was God knows where, doing God knows what. No mention of Lillith or the sixty-six seals. It was as if the world had returned back to normal for a while, everyone still gone on holiday. Taking a much wanted vacation.

So Sam and Dean went back to work. Back to being useful. _Keep busy. Keep our heads_ _in the game_, Dean had pressed. So Sam scoured newspapers and articles online, checking for anything that would help them on their mission to save mankind.

Because for the Winchesters, it was all about the saving.

"So… what?" Dean's brows lifted, perplexed at Sam's explanation. They were headed out of Colorado, east into Nebraska, a small town called Galila. Big enough to have a high school, a small hospital, two hotels and twelve churches. And about four thousand God-fearing residents.

"Twelve churches? Doesn't that seem like a lot to you?"

Sam shrugged, matching his brother's stare. "Maybe it's a religious melting pot."

Dean smirked. "In Galila, Nebraska?" Dean's eyes drifted down to where Sam's finger held the town's spot on the map. "In the middle of nowhere?"

His brother scratched at his forehead, his long fingers rubbing at an unspoken headache. Dean didn't miss it as Sam let out a breath. "I don't know, man. It's a small town."

"And how many people have kicked it?"

Sam pulled his research out from the seat between them. Photocopies of articles from the town's newspapers, a few police reports he was able to obtain staring back at him in Helvetica. "Since May, three. They were all murdered. And the town hasn't seen a murder for twenty-five years."

"Maybe the word of God is getting to them."

Sam ignored the comment. "First guy killed his wife and then himself. Another guy killed his best friend. A lady killed her mother. The two surviving are awaiting trial, but they say it wasn't them. They said it was like a force inside them drove them to kill. Like they were full of hate."

Silence. Sam took the hint and continued on, "They both describe it the same way: like a wave of hatred washed over them."

The seat of the Impala creaked beside him and he watched as Dean shifted his position, his hands reattaching to the wheel. His eyes stayed glued to the road. "But, what about the other part?"

Sam shuffled through his papers. "Well, there's also been an increase of good things, too. Happy accidents."

"Happy accidents? Since when are accidents happy?"

"Not real accidents, Dean. It's theoretical. One lady gave her life savings to the…"

"Church?"

"The library," Sam's voice was sharp, a purposeful edge. "There was a guy who donated his kidney to some girl he didn't even know. A group of kids sold lemonade all summer long and mailed their profits to the troops."

"Okay, that's weird. Kids selling lemonade? We gotta check this out." His lips pressed tightly together; his hands repositioned again, his ring giving the rim a dull clunk.

"People are murdering people they know and then claiming they didn't do it…"

"That's what murderers do, Sam! They kill people and then say they didn't do it!"

Sam let out a huff. The quiet headache was starting to yell, a steady throb over his left eye. The old Chevy was still gliding them into town, though. It wasn't the job. Sam knew Dean believed there was something worth checking out, but in the past six weeks, he wasn't sure what version of his brother he was going to get. Mostly it was this, though. Defensive, passive-aggressive. So not in the mood for a hunt or a chase through the woods. It didn't make for a great traveling companion.

And the silence from above and the calm from down below was driving them both softly insane with wonder.

www

The kid was playing a video game. An early Christmas present, his mother had explained, shaking her head in defeat. She walked around the console so she would be in his direct line of sight, but he just moved his body to the left, his eyes curling around her large body. And her Santa hat. It jingled to her body's natural jiggles.

"Paul!" She hollered to him for possibly the fourth time. "These men want to talk to you!"

"Jus' a sec," came the quick reply as his fingers flew over the buttons, his right hand slamming into a plastic handle, causing his avatar on the big television to jump back and hit its opponent in the face. It was a hairy monster with spikes on its back. Should have been able to crush the cartoon soldier with one blow. A few clicks of a button and the twist of the kid's body, however, proved wrong. Blood smeared across the screen, the monster's computer generated nose broke and smashed, causing the creature to fall. The words "HIGH SCORE" beaconed like a neon sign back to the viewers. The kid dropped the console and raised two fists into the air, whooping out a well deserved, "Yesss!" He grabbed a box of store bought cookies to celebrate, twirling on his butt to face the investigators in front of him. The kid was maybe sixteen, oily black hair, way past needing a cut. He shook his bangs out of his eyes, greenish-blue, and tipped the box of cookies to the men in a surprise offer.

Sam's hand waved them away, Dean's was already plunging into the box. He brought out two. Ginger snaps. The kid shook the box to Sam again and the younger brother rolled his eyes and took a couple, holding them in his warm palm.

"Tommy?" The kid asked them after he took a cookie for himself.

Sam nodded, bending down to where the boy sat Indian style. "Yeah, your friend Tommy said you came after him a couple of months ago." Sam took a breath. "With an axe?"

The kid nodded. His eyes constricted, his face grew somber. Even the remembrance upset him. "Yeah, but it wasn't..." he stopped.

Dean was watching him closely, his mouth still chomping on the brittle cookie. The kid looked like Sam had when he was that age. Except the hair. The hair was too dark. "What?" he asked around the crumbles.

A one shoulder shrug, his eyes were somewhere else now. "It wasn't me?" His voice raised on the last word. Even he didn't understand it. Too much for the young to muddle through. "It was like…" his hands moved in front of his chest, trying to grab words out of the air, "like a rush. Like I was so angry and I wanted to kill Tommy."

Sam's eyebrows bunched. "Why'd you want to kill him?"

The kid glanced up, shame and confusion meeting his eyes. "He was the first person I saw that day."

Sam kept his body language open. He remained crouched down, his arms easily draped over his knees, his stare not wavering, his voice strong and understanding. "What happened next?"

A sweet smelling breath was released from the boy as his body settled a little, his back hunched and his youthful eyes ventured over to Dean. "Tommy talked me out of it." He ping-ponged back to Sam. "He was just so nice about the whole thing. I don't know, it's like he just… won me over some how." The kid reached into the box and pulled out another cookie, chomping on it. "Thing is, I never have liked the guy. Part of me wonders why the hell I didn't chop him up. I really, really wanted to." He looked guilty then. "But don't tell my mom that. It's been really hard on her."

There was a jingle behind the brothers and Sam smiled and nodded to the kid.

www

Two additional victims/witnesses down and the brothers crossed a few possibilities off their list. _Shape shifter?_ No. _Demon?_ Unlikely_. Possession?_ Maybe. They just weren't sure.

"They said it was like a force," Sam recapped as they walked a half mile across the third guy's lumpy farmland. "None of them felt that strong of anger before in their life."

"That dude said it was like a rush," Dean chimed in. "Like he was high." They reached the Impala and looked back behind them to the grassy field. The guy they'd interviewed was coming back up towards the house, riding on his four wheeler. He was an older man, almost sixty, skin weathered from the sun and aged from farm life. He had threatened his forty-year-old neighbor, Julie, with a bat. She was a mother of five, way out of shape, but she had somehow managed to get the bat away from him and that caused a fist fight. He had broken her cheekbone, taken out two of her teeth out and left both her blue eyes purple. He had used the bat in the end. To kill her dog.

She didn't press charges, though. She forgave him.

"Hey!" The old farmer shouted out as he got closer. He held up a piece of scrap paper as he cut the engine off. The boys turned, car doors wide open. "Forgot to give you Julie's address and phone number. Easy to get turned around out here." He offered the paper with a regretful smile. "She really is just an angel."

Dean winced at the words. He took the information from the farmer and stuffed it into his front jacket pocket. The sun was setting on the horizon, the red and orange colors casting odd shadows, causing the meadow to look cold and empty. With the exception of the still cows grazing in the pasture.

_Hmm. Beef._ Dean's stomach growled.

"You know a good place to eat around here?"

The old man played with the short hairs on his chin. "Normally I'd say just go on into town, but this weekend it's crazy with Christmas and all. Lots of people coming in from out of town. Think most restaurants are pretty well booked." He scratched behind his ear, apparently thinking of an alternative place. His fingers snapped together. "There's The Garden. It's on the other side of town, to the east, off of Maple. Forget which street it's on…Suncrest or Bel Aire… should remember. Bought some canned tomatoes off them a couple months ago. Real good." He shook his head. "Anyway, it's a big old bed and breakfast." He chuckled, "It's pink. Believe me, you can't miss it."

Dean shot a look over to Sam. "Place to eat and sleep," he muttered.

The old guy was rambling. "Couple of kids own it now. Their parents, well…" His voice changed inflections, "The kids'll treat you real good."

They made the last stop, at Sam's insisting, to visit Julie. Dean complained of his growing hunger, Sam argued geography. _We're already out here, let's get it over with._ Dean slammed his open hand on the steering wheel in protest, but had pulled into the farmwife's driveway.

"Sure, I remember that day. Never forget it as long as I live." The farmer was right, she was out of shape but after five kids she still did well of her feet. Her father had been a deer hunter and her husband "hunted everything". The boys secretly wondered what that meant exactly. "So, I've been around guns and weapons my whole life." _Uh, huh._ They nodded. Kind of knew what she meant. "I got a hold of the bat... I could have killed him if I wanted to." She bounced a two-year-old on her lap. The little guy reached out with small hands, trying to grab the car keys off the kitchen table. She'd move them away and bounce him some more and move the keys back within his reach. It was game and he was in to win.

"Then why didn't you?" Dean asked. "It would have been self-defense."

She smiled then. Two teeth missing kind of smile. It was strange and small, but it held something few people in the world have the power to possess. Forgiveness. True. Pure. Forgiveness. "I'll never forget that day, boys," she said, staring them both in the eyes, "not because of what Luke did, but because of what I didn't do. Something happened to me that day. I can't explain it. It was like a…"

"A rush?" Sam's eyes lit up.

Her head tilted. "More like a… a peace. I knew I could help him. I was… empowered."

The little guy grabbed a hold of the car keys and burst into laughter, showing his mother the treasure. She wrapped her flabby arms around him and kissed him on the head. The sweet giggles drowned out the noises of the TV and the dishwasher. Julie lifted wise eyes to the brothers. "Best day of my life."

www

Dean got lost three times trying to find the pink house on the forgotten street off of Maple. When he did find it, though, it was unmistakenable. The house was a huge three story Victorian Tudor, sitting on an enormous lot. And it was pink. Bright, hot, fuchsia – screaming pink with cotton candy pink painted shutters. There was a grand wrap around porch, sporting an old wooden swing.

"This is so… wrong. On so many levels," Dean grumbled as they approached the front door. There was a sign announcing "The Garden", pink as well, swinging from the slots on the front deck.

Sam could feel the tension ripple off his brother's shoulders as they took each step.

"Sam…" was all he got out before Sam grabbed the knob and flung the door open.

The music greeted them first.

_You had a hold on me/Right from the start/A grip so tight/I couldn't tear it apart_

The Garden's door opened to a large restaurant. It was easy on the eyes with high ceilings, painted in gold, drop down lights hanging over fifteen seating areas. The tables were undressed, waxed in their natural oak with tall crystal vases sporting a different fresh-cut flower. The chairs matched, with high spindle backs and pretty lime and pink striped cushions adorning the seats.

It was inviting.

On the far side of the eating area, a head turned in the direction of the opening door. It was such a subtle movement, it most likely would have gone unnoticed had it not been from the glint of the nose ring snagging the light from above. The young woman couldn't have been much taller than five foot, her body small and childlike, although her face said otherwise. She had straight, dark hair, cut short, stacked in the back and long in the front. Piercings filled most of her bottom lip, five sat in each eyebrow, and her ears were barely visible behind all the metal. Her nose had only the one. As did her tongue.

It was hard for the boys not to imagine where there might be others in hidden places.

There were too many tattoos to count. A snake on her neck, wrapped around from front to back. What looked like a small horn below her left eye and on her left arm, a yin-yang symbol in black and white with Chinese words underneath it.

She took a few steps towards the Winchesters, her small feet keeping rhythm with the noise piping out of the speakers.

_Well, Romeo and Juliet/Samson and Delilah/ Baby you can bet/A love they couldn't deny_

She reached for the menus, the boys catching her fingernails, nine were painted jet black. Almost as dark as the make-up outlined under the bottom of her eyelashes. The tenth nail was missing. Her breath released from her lips, the words forming elegantly around the ornaments tightly attached there, "Holy shit." She made her way to the door, clutching the menus to her small chest. "Sonny!" she yelled behind her shoulder.

There was a brief pause before the answer came from the back, "Yeah?"

The hardware spread from her mouth as she smiled at the two dollar bills standing in the entry way. "Customers!"

A loud thud followed by banging and thumping, sneakers hitting stairs, the brothers guessed, and then a screech as someone skidded to a stop.

The girl was staring at each guest, taking in one and then the other with her dark brown eyes. Her studded tongue flicked over her teeth and she chewed her upper lip for a second. "Two?"

Dean turned towards his brother, rethinking their choice in food. He was sure there had to be a fast food joint in this town. They could just take their chances with the Christmas shoppers and doorbell Santas.

But Sam was already nodding back to her. "Yeah."

_My words say split/But my words they lie/'Cause when we kiss/Ooooh, fire_

They followed her half way through the restaurant, almost to the back. The girl stopped and gestured for the boys to sit.

The back door opened and a young man materialized from a small room. He walked gracefully to the trio, his long thin body towering over the girl's small frame. His hair was bleach blond, possibly from a bottle and he wore it long, dancing on the tips of his shoulders. His eyes were pale blue and caught the light above in their own dance. His skin was flawless, his complexion darker than hers, but free of human vandalism. He smiled at the strangers, straight, white teeth gleaming back.

"Out shopping?" He ventured a guess at the reason for the visit.

Sam stole a look at his brother. "What?"

The man - Sonny - shrugged. "Visiting someone for the holidays?"

"No," the girl said before the boys had a chance to answer. "Not the type." She pulled out a chair from the table and sat down with the Winchesters, pad on the table, left hand ready to take an order. Her dark eyes shifted from one face to the other, peeling back one layer of mask at a time. "Something else," she contemplated.

"We're just passing through," Dean helped.

Her cheek ticked up. "If that's the story you want to tell."

The guy kicked her chair from behind. "Shut up, Cher."

She smacked his leg without even looking.

Dean's eyes narrowed, his body leaned forward. "Wait...what? Sonny and Cher?" He raised his eyebrows at Sam, who was grinning despite himself. "Seriously?"

The girl met his stare, though, solid and still. "That's the story."

He shook his head. "Parents flower children, huh? Or, maybe had a thing for…"

The pen tapped on the pad. "They're dead." That one always shut people up.

Dean's smile disappeared. Too much information, too quick. He looked down at his hand, his finger rapped the glossy table. "Sorry," he said it softly, but with conviction. His eyes brushed back to hers, holding her gaze, he wanted her to feel that he meant it.

Her eyes lowered, taking the apology with her. She sighed and moved on. "Couple of guys like you... only other thing we got going on around here are… the murders."

"Bingo," Dean smiled.

"Well, they've been weird. Neighbors turning on one another, people carving up people they've loved their whole life..."

"Weird," Sonny agreed.

Cher's metal grin returned. "Ghost hunters?"

"Nah," her brother's cool voice came from behind her, "Myth busters."

The boys looked at the brother/sister team speechless.

A blond head and a dark head nodded back to them. "Paranormal," they agreed in unison.

www

The food had tasted good. Beef pot roast piled high on thick Italian bread, open faced and topped with mashed potatoes and gravy. Pie for dessert. Lemon with whipped cream.

Two bellies were full. Introductions from the brothers had been accomplished and they had gained a lot of information from their host and hostess. For being complete opposites in appearance, their personalities were really very similar. It wasn't hard to get information from them, they both liked to talk - more over one another than with one another.

Cher loved mythology, enjoyed a good ghost story, and believed man was not alone in the universe. "Could be aliens. You know, coming down from the mother ship and inhabiting a vessel for a short time. Experiments on people."

Sam watched her. She sounded serious. She looked serious. He had to stifle his laughter.

All the murders, all the strange reports had began after the murder/suicide of the husband and wife, David and Abby Storm. They had both grown up in the area, both well known in the community, but not always well liked. Their house had been roped off and forgotten since the incident. No one had been granted access back inside the house. And no one was asking to go back in, either.

"Storm? Not a lucky name." Dean made a mental note.

"Married for three years," Sonny had supplied. "Different folks, but… hell, the whole town is kind of different." He shook his head, raised his eyebrows. "Their place is tied up in an estate, though. But if you want, I can get you in there." He looked at the brothers and shrugged. "I know a guy."

"Careful," Cher warned, reaching around her brother and cutting into the pie. "Sonny's always trying to help out. Thinks he's Superman and he can save the world."

Dean looked over at Sam. His brother was looking down, eyes nowhere in particular. Dean felt his silence.

The pie was devoured by all four of them. Sam and Dean each enjoyed their own piece, Dean taking two. Sonny and Cher used separate forks and attacked the lemony pastry directly from the tin. Cher continued to scrape the bottom long after the gooey goodness was gone.

Dean felt a twinge inside.

"Your place is… colorful," Sam commented, looking around the dining room. "Christmas is in a few days… no decorations?"

Cher glared at him. "I don't celebrate Christmas."

Dean chuckled. "Clash with the image?"

The girl started to speak, but Sonny interrupted. "Cher stopped believing in Santa a long time ago. Spiked eggnog, on the other hand, well, she wouldn't turn that down." He smiled at his sister and then back to the guests. "So, are you guys writing a book or investigating?" Sonny leaned back in his chair.

They had to give it to them. For as open as they had been, they had hardly asked anything about the guys sitting at their table.

"Investigating," Sam nodded.

"Knew it," Cher piped up, "You owe me Metallica tickets."

The twinge inside Dean started to spread.

Cher smiled, as though she could feel it. "They're playing in Omaha next month."

Sonny shook his head and smirked. "Ass."

"Wipe," she retorted.

Sam and Dean met each other's eyes across the oak table. Both grinned.

They weren't just brother and sister. They were twins. Sonny was "four minutes older" he teased with a hint of playful love. After their parents' death, they had settled with the insurance company and moved to Galila. Their parents had bought the house and the land years ago, dreaming they'd open a bed and breakfast and retire here. The kids thought they'd give it a whirl. Hadn't been as easy as they originally thought.

"A town like this, they just aren't open to strangers coming onto their turf," Cher sucked on her fork, the metal prongs clinking against the metal around her mouth.

"How did your parents die?" Sam asked carefully, cautiously.

Cher continued to nurse the fork, her eyes staring at the empty pie plate. Sonny's body stiffened next to her. "Accident," was all he provided.

The twins were nothing but delighted to learn the boys were setting up camp at the B&B. Sonny had refused the credit card, they could reconcile the bill upon their departure. _It'll just be nice having someone stay here._ He had retrieved the brass key for their room and then offered up the "big room" when Dean explained they would be sharing and he even hoisted Sam's duffel over his shoulders as they went up the stairway.

The room was big. And, thank God, blue. Blue striped wallpaper, solid blue comforters on two queen size beds, blue towels in the bathroom. Dean let out a great sigh. Blue never looked so good.

Sonny set the duffel down on the floor and backed towards the door. "Anything special you want for breakfast?"

Dean gave Sam a wicked grin, so many food items listed there Sam couldn't keep track. He gave the blond kid a small smile. "Anything that goes with syrup." He placed the weapons duffel on the hardwood. "Hey, Sonny, why's this place called The Garden?"

"There's a garden out back." He pointed towards the windows. "Can't see anything out there now, but in the morning..."

"What? Like herbs?" Dean asked, straining his neck to the darkened windows.

Sonny laughed. "Yeah, there's herbs out there."

Dean nodded. "You got a green thumb or is that Cher's department?"

"Neither. The garden… it's just always been there. You can take a look tomorrow, but don't go wandering out there alone. Cher and I have gotten lost a couple of times."

"In the garden?"

Sonny's head bounced up and down. "It's pretty good sized."

Sam rubbed at his head unknowingly, the headache trying to make a reappearance. This time, it was Sonny that didn't miss it. "You guys sleep well, okay? If you need anything, our rooms are at the end of the hall. Cher's on the left, mine's on the right. Just..." he held up a fist and batted the air, "just give a quick knock first."

The door clicked and Sam and Dean were in another temporary home. A place to stay the night, lay their heads down on blue pillows. Exhaustion was quick. With all the driving they had done to get here, the delicate arguing that had made communication a wordy jigsaw puzzle, sleep was one thing they both could rely on. Something they could welcome.

The quiet of the night, however, hurt deep inside.

Whispers down the hall between the twins had each set of Winchester eyes open, staring blindly at the black ceiling. Then came the sound of soft slippers scuffing on the hardwood, two siblings pushing against one another in a playful fight. The whispers rose to harsh, low talking.

"Shut-up." Cher. Her voice teasing, followed by a childish giggle.

"Go to bed." Sonny. Sharp. Serious. Not wanting to play around anymore.

"You're such a fucking…"

"Cher." A warning.

"Goody-two-shoes." She finished.

The voices lowered again, whispering too faded and foreign to make out.

"Fine. Fine." Angry now.

"Good-night."

"Dick."

There was a pause and then, "Wench."

Two doors quietly shut.

Sam's eyes narrowed in the black, his mind wandering. Their Goth hostess seemed so mad. _Why was she mad? _He pulled the covers up, shaking the thought away. _Why do woman do anything?_ He looked over at Dean, who seemed awake. He could ask him, but Dean knew less about how the female mind worked than he did. At least Sam had lived with… God. Hadn't gone there in a long time. Sam closed his eyes and willed away the dull thumping in his head. He listened to the kicking in the next bed, the restless figure tossing and turning with no relief. He felt his breathing slow, his lungs struggling to take in air. He closed his eyes and tried not to feel.

_I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing. _

Sam shook the memory from his mind. Stopped his thought process from going down that road. Stopped his mind racing through the million things he wanted to ask. Stopped breathing because sometimes the not breathing was easier. Roadside confessions were his brother's specialty, apparently. Give him a case, a little AC/DC, the Impala and there was no shutting Dean Winchester up. Ask him anything? You just screwed yourself.

So Sam lay quiet, eyes closed, breathing shallow, head hurting, listening to his brother rustle, shutting out his own fears. Because now more than ever Sam had to suck it up. He had to be the wall, had to be the strength.

It was the least he could do.

***

_Christmas Eve 1996_

"_Think Dad will make it back in time?"_

_Dean stopped buttoning his shirt and looked at his brother. Sam was eye level now. It was a nice change from having to look down at him all the time._

"_Yeah, sure."_

_There was a beat that was too long. Sam was reading him, reading in between the lines. "But you'll be there?"_

_The words tugged at the young hunter. _Will I be there? How could I not?_ "What? You dressed up like an elf?" He honestly grinned at the thought. "Couldn't let you live that down."_

_He'd held his breath all day long. Dropped Sam at the church to get ready, promising, "I'll be back for the show." He'd driven home and waited until he couldn't wait any longer. Fifteen minutes and the show would start so Dean headed out the front door and looked up to see John Winchester pulling his truck into the driveway.  
_

_Dean let out a sigh in relief. "Sam's play is about ready to start."_

_John slammed the door to the truck, meeting his oldest son on the steps to the old house. "What play?"_

"_He's in the Christmas show at the church."_

_John scrubbed the back of his neck. "Got a lead on a couple of witches."_

"_Dad…"_

"_I'm gonna need a little help on this one." _

_Dean swallowed. His eyes glared at his father. Why the man didn't listen was beyond him. Why the man didn't care made no sense. Dean would never understand him. Never would understand this kind of denial. _You are not like me.

"_Sam's already at the church."_

"_Well," John looked down the street, in the wrong direction. Dean wondered if he even knew where the church was. "Go pick him up. We'll have some dinner and take…"_

"_No, Dad."_

_John looked up. "What did you say?"_

_There was a moment where Dean didn't want to keep going. Wanted to pedal back and eat shit before he got himself in deeper because he didn't talk back to his Dad. He followed orders. He did his best to please him. But this. This was Sam. This was family. "No, sir," he corrected himself. "I'm gonna watch Sam."_

_He pushed by his father and walked over to the Impala. He couldn't get the door opened fast enough. _Don't look up._ Key smashed into the ignition. _Don't look scared._ Rumble of his baby under his ass. _Don't hold it against him.

_He could see his father walk into the old house from the reflection out of the rearview mirror. Could see the reindeer bounce off the door as it slammed from the force of John's hands. And later when Sam met up with him, dressed back in his jeans and faded t-shirt, still sporting remnants of elf-make-up on his face, Dean smiled._

"_Dad here?" Sam asked him. _Why'd you have to ask?

_Dean kept the smile plastered sickly on his face and shook his head. "Didn't make it back in time."_

_***_

December 23, 2008

He had slept through the first part of the screaming of the sirens. By the time his eyes did open, they were passing by the closed window, red flashing briefly into the bedroom as the ambulance whizzed by. Dean sat up and looked across to the other bed. Sam was already standing, zipping up his jeans, he could see his mouth moving in the gray light.

"Come on, it's stopping down the street." He tossed Dean his jeans and started slamming his feet into his shoes.

Dean dropped his legs over the bed and shrugged into the familiar denim. "What happened?"

Sam cupped his hands over his face to look out the window into the night. "Dunno. Looks like someone is lying on the street, though."

"They moving?" He pulled his shirt over his head.

Sam backed away. "Can't tell."

They stood, side by side, grabbing their jackets, each subconsciously checking for weapons. Gun. Knife. Flask. Each mindless tick like it was nothing. "What about Sonny and Cher?" Dean made a face. "Did I just say that?"

Sam ignored him. "I think I heard them earlier. They're probably already outside."

Dean let Sam lead the way out of the house. They were on the second floor, the stairs heading up to the third roped off, the entire floor shut away from the public. Sam's feet moved faster than Dean's, taking two steps at a time and his younger brother was out the front door before Dean had ever hit the bottom.

He let out a short breath, _Move it, Winchester._

By the time Sam had come to a stop, Dean had just caught up. They both stood behind the clutter of police cars, the ambulance, the brother and sister who were gawking over the vehicles to get a good look. No one else was out there on this night, though. The neighborhood literally consisted of the large pink house.

A body was lying motionless on the pavement, a white tarp covering it from head to toe. No way of telling who was under that blanket, old or young, woman or man, victim or murderer.

"What happened?" Dean cleared his throat from behind.

Cher's shoulders jumped, her hand spanning across her small chest. "Jesus Christ," she spat out, "you scared the shit out of me."

Sonny's right arm crossed her shoulders and he rubbed a few seconds, giving her comfort and warmth. "They found some lady. Dead."

Sam's face formed a frown. "You know who she is?"

A blond head shook his response. "Big lady. Kid cut her throat." He motioned to the curb where a dark haired boy sat, his head hanging down, bangs needing cut covering his eyes, his body shivering. Maybe he was sixteen. His arms were pulled back tight behind him. Cops already had him handcuffed.

_Ginger snaps._

Dean nudged his brother with his elbow, but Sam was already pale, looking at Paul, the boy from earlier in the day.

"What do think is up?"

Sam grimaced. "Something bad."

Something bad. That's how Dean's mouth tasted. Like this whole case was a sour mess. People in love, killing each other. Children killing parents. Neighbors beating each other. Do unto others… _A wave of hatred. A rush. A high. _

Leaves crumpling and brush shuffling to their right had each brother turning their heads. It sounded odd, low to the ground, slithering. A snake, maybe?

"What is that?" Dean asked as Sam started making his way towards the noise.

"Probably a snake. There's a lot of them out here." Sonny was still rubbing his sister's shoulders.

Dean walked up the curb behind Sam, watching as his brother stopped. He'd come to a wall. A wall growing with life, filled with flowers. Flowers that were taller than them. Flowers neither had ever seen before.

"What is that?" Dean asked again, his voice raising an octave.

Cher's dark eyes shifted to the large row of flowery life. She gazed out into the field, her voice dreamlike, "The garden."

Dean gaped. His neck rotated to the left and the right, the wall continued as far as he could see against the long, narrow street. "_That's_ the garden?" He looked hard, trying to see in through the dark, through the thick barrier of foliage. A breeze blew through, skimming off his flesh, causing goose bumps to pimple up on his arm. Dean's eyes narrowed. It felt wrong. I felt like something was watching him from the inside, hiding behind bushes and leaves. He quickly scanned the area but the only thing he saw was Sam, his hand out, fingers spread apart, at the edge of the garden, just about to step into the bushy flowers.

"Sammy," Dean called out and immediately regretted the urgency in his voice, the underlying tremor he thought he heard there.

But it got the job done. Sam stopped and turned around.

Dean shook his head and breathed a small sigh of relief as his brother retreated back to the safety of the curb.

"How big is the garden?" Sam inquired, joining the other three.

Cher shrugged. "I don't know. Pretty big."

"Like a couple of acres big or a couple hundred?"

She flashed Sam a sheepish look. He wasn't sure what she was thinking. Maybe what an acre was. "A whole bunch," she answered just as vague.

"Do you have a gardener?"

She huffed. "No."

"Who takes care of it, then?"

"Nobody does. It just… takes care of itself."

Dean looked over his brother's shoulder, watching the long and short stems sway, taking with them the full tops, which all looked too dark in the night. Sam turned, following Dean's stare.

"You ever notice anything out there?" Dean asked.

Cher turned to her brother and the two matched each other's eyes, expressions hidden from the hunters. They were sharing a conversation, which the boys noticed, but couldn't read. Sonny pulled his sister in closer under his arm. "Like what?"

Sam and Dean smirked and at the same time responded, "Paranormal."

"Oh." Cher thought about it. "We've been out there a few times, but I've never noticed anything." She looked up to her taller sibling.

Sonny was shaking his head, his mouth in an upside down frown. "No."

Dean scratched the top of his head, his hand brushing his spiky hair. Maybe it wasn't the garden. Maybe it was just the darkness that surrounded them right now. Maybe it was just the fact that there was a dead lady lying a few feet from them and her kid was going to be charged with killing her.

It was just a gut feeling.

Sam pushed his brother over to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. They ducked down past the ambulance and dodged three cops, talking amongst themselves, one filling out a pile of papers stuck on a clipboard. They shuffled through a yellow police line and crouched low, crawling over to the hunched over form of the sixteen-year-old boy.

"Paul," Sam called over, his voice a bit louder than a whisper.

The kid's head turned quickly, his dark bangs brushing off his forehead. He looked young and scared. He looked like he needed his mom. His eyes widened as he saw the brothers approach him. "You guys?" He looked around wildly, watching the officers buzzing around him. His attention turned back to the men crouching behind a police car. "What're you doing?"

Sam came closer to the boy. "Paul, what…" he lowered his voice, "what happened?"

Paul looked away, back to the ground. His bangs danced over his forehead again and Sam waited for this kid's response. He took in a shaky breath and it was then that Sam realized that the bangs weren't dancing, they were quaking. The kid had broken down before he ever got out a word.

Sam's face fell, sobering in the moment. "Paul." He stopped. Bloody, bloody hands were trapped in those cuffs. Stained fresh and red and not yet able to drive a car. Incriminating and they held all the evidence to put the boy away for life. What do you say?

_What can you possibly say to make that all right? _

Sam swallowed and pulled his arms closer to his stomach, almost wrapping them around his waist. He looked down at his actions. _What am I doing?_ He looked back across the pavement at the shattered life and he wished. He wished he could have… stopped it. Whatever it was. Saved this boy. Saved his mother. What had they missed? Had there been something there?

"I… kill…ed her," came the broken words.

_Keep breathing._ Sam's arms wrapped around his middle tighter. Holding him there. _Keep breathing. _"Was it like before?"

The bangs shook back and forth. "No. It… w-was… worse."

A fat tear dropped from Paul's eyes and splashed onto the concrete. Sam had to look away. Had to forget what this kind of hurt was like. Had to forget what it was like to lose the most important person in your life. What it was like to lose your life. Your freedom. Become a prisoner. When all you wanted was to be part of the world. Part of something important. Make a difference. Not be the difference.

Not be alone.

Sam cleared his throat. "H-how," damn, his voice cracked. He cleared his throat again. "How was it different?"

The kid didn't answer. And Sam waited as long as he could.

"Paul, what was different this time?" He rushed through the words much faster than he would have liked, but the cops were gathering in twos and threes and soon there wouldn't be much more time and his feet were starting to fall asleep under him and goddammit, this was getting to him and he just wanted it to be over with. _Skip to the end._

A firm, but gentle weight was pressed onto Sam's back and he knew. He knew without having to turn around, without having to ask that he could finish questioning the kid.

"I wasn't j-just m-mad," Paul cried, "I was angry. Cr-crazy angry." His sweet, youthful eyes looked at the hunters, wet and pained. "I slit her throat." The tears rolled down in a heavy rainfall. "She-she made meatloaf and…" he turned his head up the street. "She w-wanted to take…a walk. Get some applesauce. I st-started… I chased her."

Sam's eyes were burning. He blinked it back, swallowed it down, felt the pressure on his back move up to his shoulders and squeeze. "You had a knife?"

"No," he answered quickly. "I u-used my house key." And upon that confession the child's entire body started to shake. There was definitely no words now that anyone could say to him to make it all right. To make it even a little okay.

Anyway he looked at it, Sam realized one thing: the kid was fucked.

Two officers were starting to approach Paul again and Sam could feel the tugging on his jacket. He wanted to stay, he wanted to pull the kid with them as they crawled their way back through the police tape, down by the ambulances and cop cars until they were back on the darkened sidewalk. Sonny and Cher were still looking on, watching the EMT's move Paul's mother away. The cart hit the ambulance wrong and the bed tilted, resulting in her arm falling away from her body, out of the sheet. It was easily tucked back in, hidden under the white, but it was enough the make Cher cover her face in her brother's chest. Enough to brand the moment in the onlookers minds even more.

Dean sat on the curb, his brother a mangled mess next to him. He slapped his open palm on Sam's knee. "We'll go to the, uh, Storm's house tomorrow," he suggested.

"The first couple?"

"Yeah."

Paul was up, feet scuffing on the pavement, head being pushed through an open door of a police car.

"Sam..."

"I could use a drink."

There was a long pause and then a sigh. "Yeah. Me, too." Dean stood up and offered his hand down to his brother, pulling him up with ease and care. "I'm sure Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves over there got something stashed in that friggin' fugly house of their's."

Sam smiled, his head hanging low. "Sounds good." He wiped off some dust that had kicked up from the ground and led the way across the street to the twins, hopeful for some alcohol to sedate him this night.

Dean followed behind, his brother strolling ahead of him, but it was the tall flowers in the backdrop that caught his eyes. The way they moved against the wind instead of with it. The way they beckoned with thorny promises. All the leaves and the sticks and the flowers upon flowers. Asking to be touched, but wanting so much more. Thick and heavy like the lies they told. He blinked at the wall and still felt it. Something in there, looking back at him.

"They got gin!" Sam yelled over his shoulder as Dean met up with the group.

_Gin and juice. That'd be just fine._

"Don't get this one drunk," Sonny joked, "She gets mean."

"I do not!"

"Pure evil. Mean and crabby."

"Oh, and you're a saint?" Cher elbowed her brother as they started the short jaunt back to the house. He tripped her and she jumped up, trying to slap him on the back of his head, but hitting his neck instead.

Dean could hear Sam release an uneasy sigh as he jogged up beside him. Smiling to the twins, but for his brother, he'd let him see some of the pressure. Dean brushed shoulders with his younger brother, bumping against his elbow. Sam looked down, his hands jammed in his jacket pocket. He gave his brother a slow smile and quietly pulled out a treasure. Two ginger snap cookies. He handed one to Dean, who tiredly accepted it. They each popped one into their mouth and bit down on the hard cookie. It crumbled immediately.

They followed the twins in silence, the garden following them from the edge of the street. It seemed to push away from the curb as the exterior of the house came near and soon they were beside the pink siding, the trees and flowers behind them and Dean tried to release the clenched muscles in his stomach.

It was, after all, just a gut feeling.

**Playlist:**

_Fire_ performed by the Pointer Sisters

**A/N:** Thanks for taking the time to read. This chapter was the longest. Don't fret, the action is coming...


	2. Pinky Swear

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews. We'll continue on with the story. Thanks again to MAZ101. I tried, MAZ, I really did.

**Chapter Two: Pinky Swear**

Dean rolled over and saw Sam. His brother stood in front of the window, blue curtains pulled back, blinding light shining in from the outside. Too early. Too bright. Too damn soon. A groan worked its way out of Dean's throat and he threw one arm over his eyes.

"Time is it?"

A pause. "Seven-thirty."

Another throaty groan. Dean slowly pulled his arm back, allowing glimpses of light into his vision. He let his eyes adjust and turned back towards Sam. His brother's gaze was intense, like he was trying to shoot laser beams from his eyes.

Maybe one day he would.

"What do you see?" His throat was dry and scratchy. It felt sore and raw. Then he remembered last night. The gin and juice. It slid down smooth and cool. Sam had drunk more than he had. Consumed more than any of them, actually, until he was way over the legal limit. Sloppy drunk. Uncharacteristically ugly of Sam. Well, at least of the Sam he used to know.

Sam shook his head, his eyes still staring past the thick glass. "It's unbelievable."

Dean dragged his legs over the bed and stumbled sleepily over to the window. "What?" He smacked his lips together. Tasted sticky and stale.

Sam shuffled his feet, making room for his brother. "Look."

Dean rubbed his eyes, face pulled down into a frown as he shifted his body and turned his attention to the view out the back bedroom.

Vast was an understatement.

The garden was packed with life. Trees with fat leaves, hanging like umbrellas, sheltering and protecting smaller plants. Shrubs in perfect rows, green and brown, branches straining for the winter sun. Red and blue berries hanging off the ends of bushes, decorating the tops. Flowers of every color in the rainbow. Bright ones. Muted ones. Neon ones. All bleeding into one another. Plants jutting out of odd spaces, some taller than small trees, some lower to the ground, dripping with dew, green leaves left frosted from the cool night.

The garden was also packed with death. Flowers and plants hibernating for the winter, in their places were sticks and wilted leaves. Dry and cold and waiting for life once again. Areas that seemed shaved away from the lush growth surrounding it. Brown leaves coated the floor, left crispy without a branch to call home.

The brothers could only imagine the orgy of colors it held during the spring and summer. There were definitive areas where only certain plants grew before meeting up with a species unlike their own. It was a whole new world down below.

Dean's head turned, pressing his cheek against the cool glass to the left and to the right. The garden continued as far as he could see, in each direction. There was a small trail towards the center where the garden's edge met the grassy backyard. From their angle, the trail looked narrow with a dirt floor. There was a clay angel hanging in an arch above the entrance and a handmade arrow pointing inwards. A request for the human world to come in - touch something, smell something, pick something.

"It's like a labyrinth," Sam spoke up from behind him.

Dean followed the modest trail as far as he could go with his untraveled sight. "Or a maze."

Sam's face scrunched up as he looked down at his brother. He opened his mouth and then decided against it, letting it go with a quick shake of his head.

Dean shoved by him, heading towards the bathroom. "Shower. Eat. Storm house." He flicked his fingers up, accentuating his points.

Sam was nodding back. "What about the…" he ticked his head out the window, gesturing.

A small shrug. "Let's check out the house first. If Sonny can get us in there, we may as well get it over with." He pointed past Sam's shoulder. "That thing isn't going anywhere."

"You think there's something in there." It was said as a statement, not a question.

"What? Besides roses and daisies?"

"Yeah, besides that."

Dean waited, his hand resting on the door jamb. His fingers strummed the trim, keeping time in his head. "You get the feeling last night that someone was, you know," he looked up at Sam, "watching us?"

"From inside the garden?"

He nodded.

"I don't know. I mean, there was so much commotion going on that it was hard to…" Sam's voice trailed off. He mentally retraced his steps up the curb, onto the grass, up to the edge of the garden. They had heard a rustling in the leaves from below… a snake, but he didn't see one. He didn't see anything beyond the plants. His hand was stretched out, his fingers spread as he worked his way towards the wall of flowers and he felt…

His eyes snapped up to Dean's. "Yeah, maybe."

Dean blinked back. "You see something?"

"No, but I felt a – a pull."

"A pull?"

"Yeah, you know, like a force."

"A force?"

Sam nodded.

"You sure it wasn't, you know…"

"What?"

"You? Your fre - your psychic-wonder thing?" Dean held his breath. He'd stopped himself from saying it. _Stop saying it._

_I'm a whole new level of freak._

He watched as Sam's eyes dropped. Lost somewhere in the hardwood and blue throw rugs. Dean followed the imaginary line and waited. He knew Sam would play one of two cards: he'd ignore the slip-up and continue on or he'd unleash an outburst of bottled up anger. Dean's money was on the former.

"No, it was like an energy... from inside."

_Bingo._

"Inside the garden? And you didn't mention this last night?"

Sam's head tilted. "Dean, there was a dead body on the ground. Paul was handcuffed. We were…"

His brother was patting the air with his hand. "Yeah, I know. Forget it. It's okay. Besides, it's just a… a hunch." He turned to head into the bathroom, the door starting to close. "We go the house and check it out. Then we'll come back and see what's in the garden."

"Before it gets too dark."

The door swung back open and Dean grinned at his younger brother. "We'll take a nightlight. I'm sure Cher has a pretty pink one for you…"

"Shut up," Sam smiled at him, his eyes flicking up, "Jerk."

The door slammed and there was nothing said back. Sam waited for it. His head hung down, his eyes shut, his breath held and he waited. Nothing. He nodded to himself.

Somewhere between earth and hell and earth again they had lost a part of what they once were. The precious last moments two brothers held to on earth had left scars and bled wounds too deep to repair. At the strike of midnight, they both went to hell. Ultimately, they both paid the price for Sam's life. They both did the time. Now with the return home, they just couldn't stop the bleeding.

The shower spray was turned on and Sam loosened up his boots, his feet sliding into the worn leather. Some things were different now, some things stayed the same. He bent his knee up and tied the laces, keeping his mind from wandering. _Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone?_ Keeping his mind on the job at hand_. How far from normal? From human?_ Keep himself busy with the task in front of him. _If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you._

The bathroom door pulled open and Dean stood, shirtless, a blue towel wrapped around his lower half. "Throw me my shaving kit."

Sam put his foot down, rummaged through the duffel and plucked out the soft black case. He held it up to his brother and tossed it into the air.

Dean caught it easily in one hand. "Thanks." He ducked back into the bathroom and before the door shut, growled over his shoulder, "Bitch."

The sting behind Sam's eyes felt warm and something deep inside him jabbed and thawed and gave away as he blinked the feeling back into his silent shadows.

www

There was no hustle and no bustle in the restaurant downstairs. No Bing Crosby. No White Christmas. Not even a tree. It was the exact opposite. Just a regular dining room on a regular day. This restaurant, however, was dead quiet. With the exception of the folk music softly playing over head, a raspy female voice singing softly to a tune neither guest recognized.

_How can that dog be barkin' in the backyard/we ran over him years ago_

Each of the fifteen tables were dressed, place settings perfectly mapped out, pink napkins neatly folded, water glasses filled, fresh cut flowers sitting solo in each crystal vase.

The twins prepared for no one everyday. They kept the dining area spotless, kept appearances immaculate, kept the warmth contained inside. But no one was coming in from the cold to find this gem. No one but the Winchesters.

Cher had eyeballed them as soon as they walked down the staircase, their noisy boots giving them away in the near silence. She was awake, but not quite alert. Heavy mascara lids skidded across the tops of her cheeks as she made weak attempts at keeping them open. She yawned twice before ever saying "Good morning". The boys couldn't help but notice the gold stud on her tongue now replaced with a purple striped ball. She stretched and kinked her neck each way, an audible crack and pop from each side as she let out simultaneous sighs of relief. Her feet, however, seemed to float. They quickened with the music and slowed as the beat allowed.

_How can that dog be scratchin' at the back door/we ran over him years ago_

She reached the other side of the room, grabbing menus in her hands. Her face turned up in a large pinpointing smile, metal spreading apart from one another. Her dark eyes played with each brother, twinkling at one, constricting at the other. She soaked them in, visually drinking both as she stood across from them. It was oddly intimidating coming from a woman barely able to reach their chests with the top of her hair.

"Two?" she mused.

Dean turned to Sam, his eyebrows lifted. But Sam wasn't paying any attention to him. Sam was smiling at her. Smiling at her with a goofy boyish grin that he used before when he… _Oh, God. Not now._

"Yeah," Sam was playing with her.

_Jesus Christ._

Dean rubbed at his forehead as Cher led the duo down the middle of the eatery. They passed each table until they almost reached the back and sat down in the same spot as the night before.

Cher stood this time, pad in her right hand, pen in her left, ready for their order. Her eyes flicked up to Dean, lips still spread in an ornamental smile. "Syrup," she remembered, pleased with herself.

He opened the menu and nodded.

"Pancakes or waffles?"

His mouth twitched as he contemplated the most important decision of his day so far. "Waffles," he decided.

"Sonny!" she hollered into the empty space.

There was a short pause and the door swung open from the back. Sonny strolled up to the group, blond hair feathered away from his face, his skin smooth as silk. He had on a pair of light blue jeans with a button down green shirt, but over his clothing he wore a pressed white apron tied neatly around his middle. His smile was contagious. "Sup, guys?"

Flashes of the night before filled Sam's memory. Sonny with not one – but two – bottles of gin, passing them around. He had put on that stupid, white apron and.. the guy had a microphone. _Oh, geez. Karaoke._ The twins had revived the _Sonny and Cher Show_. How could he have forgotten? And he recalled something else… the smell of the microphone – lemon and cranberry - under his own nose and Dean giggling as he passed it over. Then, a gravely rendition of _Black Betty_. He glanced over at Dean, who by the look of horror on his face, was piecing together his own memory of the night's events.

"Waffles," Cher reiterated Dean's breakfast order.

Sonny was nodding. "One of my specialties." His voice was sweet, almost like a melody. He was bright eyed and bushy tailed. The gin had no apparent lingering effects. Nor did the bad Karaoke.

Dean closed the menu. "Sausage and coffee. Lotsa coffee."

Cher turned to Sam, who'd been quiet to this point. He cleared his throat. "Ham and cheese omelet." Sam passed the menu over and before Cher could ask, he added, "Orange juice."

She smiled and nudged Sonny. "I'll get the drinks, rockstar."

Sonny was following her out, pointing at her back and mouthing _She can't cook_ back to the brothers. Had she seen his betrayal, there would be no doubt his sister would have kicked his ass.

The boys watched as the twins disappeared through the swinging back doors. Safely alone with only the music playing from above, the brothers turned to each other, hands splayed flat against the table, chests leaning forwards, and at the same time accused the other: "Dude, you Ram Jam'd last night."

www

It was a hard battle to win and so they weren't surprised when they lost. Three guys against a girl. They so overestimated their odds.

Sonny fought with Cher. It was full of normal sibling drama that goes along with regular sibling arguments. Cher wanted to tag along for the ride, see the house the Storm's had died in. Hang out with the boys. Sonny had offered a different take on the subject, one that was quick, resolute, and final: "No."

"I wanna go," she pleaded, playfully biting at one of her lip piercings and twirling a strand of her short dark hair. Such a girl.

Sonny argued his points – they didn't need her with them; she'd just end up getting in the way; no, it wasn't going to be fun; and – most important – yes, Cher, they'd be safe.

But she stood adamant, her tiny feet planted flat on the floor, her eyes turning to fire with every heated breath. "I. Wanna. Go."

Sonny had called a friend of a friend and found where the key was kept so they could gain access. Dean scoffed and said he and Sam could get in without the need of a _key_. But Sonny explained how the place was locked down like a fortress now and that there was an elaborate alarm system. He jotted down the code on his hand and announced he was ready.

Cher's eyes had grown soft in the time she spent listening, being left out of the planning of the project.

All three men grabbed up their jackets and stuffed information and weapons into the rightful places. Dean was jingling the keys to the Impala.

"But, I wanna go." Her voice was sweet like little sisters could be when they wanted to, digging the plea from someplace inside where she knew she'd tug on heartstrings. The place where he couldn't say no to her.

Sonny's shoulders sank and his head fell forward. He let out a long sigh. "Fine." His voice was curt as he turned to her, raising a finger. "But I swear, Cher, if you mess anything up…"

"I won't."

"If you touch anything…"

"I promise."

He looked at her hard. "Cher."

"I'll be good. I swear." She held up her pinky and curved it, waiting on him.

He quickly hooked his around hers and they pulled back, breaking the bond.

Nothing like a pinky swear between siblings to keep the faith and build the trust.

www

"Really? They were happy here?" Dean crawled under the safety-yellow police tape, part of it clinging to his coat as he stood on the other side.

Sam brushed it off before he'd even noticed it was there.

It was an old farmhouse. Two stories. Peaks off the second story. A deck in the front. One in the back. It was at least a century old and not kept up well for the past ten, twenty years they suspected. The outside boards were warped, rotted, and some literally begging to fall off the house. Shingles were scattered in the yard from above. The front deck was sagging into the ground, the steps mushy under their feet as they walked up.

Sonny had punched in the security code and they had entered through the front door. The rooms were simple, square, white walls, old lights. The furniture looked to be second hand, a flowery couch, an old red chair that didn't match, a scuffed up coffee table. It secretly reminded Sam of a few of the furnished houses they were lucky enough to rent growing up. Nothing ever matched. Everything was used. Standing in all this dust and filth, he felt oddly at home.

The EMF detector was flipped on and Sam started walking with it, swaying it to the left and the right. Quiet. He heard Dean walking behind him, flipping through the late couple's mail, magazines, pictures, books – whatever he had at his fingertips.

"Cute, huh?" Sam turned around to see Dean holding up a wooden frame, painted red with white letters attached in stickers that stated "Our Wedding". The picture was a bit blurry, but was definitely of a bride and groom, each about two hundred fifty pounds, the groom with no hair, the bride missing a tooth. Dean turned it around and stared at it. He looked back up to Sam. "Hard to tell, but, dude… I think she was cross-eyed, too."

Sam turned back to his work. They had weaved their way through the living room, the kitchen, the dining area and were back where they had begun. The front door.

Sonny and Cher had been looking through a filing cabinet in the living room. The brothers figured they could look for anything weirdly human in the files that would give a husband motive to kill his wife. And it would keep the twins in one place and out of trouble.

A glass curio cabinet full of troll dolls and beanie babies stared at the Winchesters as they rounded the corner back into the living room. Bizarre collections of people who didn't know how to properly spend their money. Dean's face wrinkled back at the dolls. "Why do you think they would put a freaking alarm system on this place?"

Sam opened another door to what he guessed was a coat closet. "Think I found out why."

All three heads turned over to him. Dean walked the short distance, the glimmer of a child in a candy store reflecting back. "Awesome," was all he could breathe.

Now this was a way to spend money.

The coat closet held no coats. Instead it was home to a variety of firearms - rifles, handguns and shotguns – some manufactured, some homemade. There were numerous knives – daggers, machetes, swords of all shapes and sizes. There were at least half a dozen bows, both wooden and composite with arrows, ranging from fiberglass to carbon. Tucked low to the floor were boxes full of oddities – pepper sprays, tasers, batons, and an array of rare medieval instruments, which neither brother could even begin to decipher what they could be used for.

"How'd he kill her?" Sam asked to the brother and sister team standing with mouths opened behind him.

There was a stunned beat before Sonny stuttered out, "He… shot her. And then himself."

The closet door shut. "Where?"

Sam and Dean's eyes followed up the stairs where Sonny's head gestured to. He looked back at his sister. "It was their bedroom, right?"

Cher's eyebrows lifted, taking with them ten different piercings. "I think so."

The stairs were in pretty decent shape, considering the rest of the house. Only one step had a significant hole off to the right. The others were intact and only creaked like they were going to cave in. Didn't give anyone any assurance, though, as eight feet trampled up the flight to the second floor.

Sam took the door to the left, Dean took the one to the right, Sonny and Cher went down the hall to the last remaining door and they all swung their doors open.

"Clear," Sam called out.

"I think it's a den," Dean guessed as he looked at the desk sitting in the room he opened. It was surrounded by nothing but junk, though. A moose head, an exercise bike, a box of Butterfingers, a sewing machine, old Willie Nelson records. And the record player.

"What is that?"

The boys turned their attention to Cher's voice, a little tremble present that she couldn't hide.

They reached the third door and brushed the twins aside, taking in what had been the Storm's master bedroom. There was an extra-large bed in the center of the room, approximately seven clear plastic totes which had been serving as their dresser and an altar… of sorts.

"What is that?" Came the dark haired girl's voice again.

Sam walked over to the round table. It had been cheaply put together with particle board and covered with some sort of white fabric, definitely not a table cloth, maybe a long pillowcase. The contents on the table top, were more obvious. A statuette of the Virgin Mary, her hands spread apart. A copper cup filled with dirt. A dead red rose. A silver medal with the silhouette of a man's profile and the inscription "St. Nicholas" curved underneath. Locks of hair, one tied with a pink ribbon, the other with blue. A small plaque with a picture of St. Gerard, holding in one hand a cross and in the other a skull. A prayer card containing two prayers from St. Gerard, one titled, "For Motherhood", the other "For Mother with Child".

"I think," Sam started, picking up the hairs, "they were trying to have a baby."

"Don't most people just see a doctor?" Sonny asked, his lips curled up in awe.

"Or have sex?" Dean smelled the rose, gagged, and put it back down. He reached for the hairs Sam was holding, but his younger brother smacked him away.

"Some people believe in alternative fertility methods." He picked up the prayer card. "St. Gerard is the patron saint of motherhood. Women are suppose to pray to Mary, ask her for her blessing…"

"What? God, the things you read about for fun." Dean reached across him and took the hairs. "This is… gross."

Sonny picked up the flower. "Wow."

"What?" Dean and Sam asked together.

Sonny smelled the dead petals. "It's just that it looks like this was a red rose, but it wasn't. It was a blue rose."

Sam and Dean leaned in closer. It did indeed have a bluish hue to it.

"They're pretty rare. I've never seen one before. Except out back in the garden." He gently placed the stem back on the altar.

"In the garden? As in your garden?"

A quick blond head nodded.

"Think they picked it from there?" Sam ventured.

Sonny sighed. "I don't know. I can't think of anywhere else around here that they'd find one, though."

"What is that?" Cher piped up again.

Dean and Sam glanced behind their shoulders, their eyes suddenly taking in what Cher had been seeing that the others had not. Off to the right of the door were the blood stains, evidence left over from the gruesome murders. Lots of it. It was dark in color now, almost brown, the red having soaked into the carpet where it landed. The walls were decorated with splashes and splatters. In each direction there were red clumps embedded in the carpet fibers. The boys walked over to the mess and crouched down low. Tissue. Skin. Muscle. Probably brains. Possibly hearts. In itty-bitty pieces.

"I guess no one's been out to clean it up," Dean murmured to Sam.

"What is it?" Cher, not getting any answers, still asked, her voice amplifying as she backed out into the hall.

Sam looked up from down below. "Body parts," he said honestly.

The girl bent forward and grabbed her stomach for a few seconds. She took in a gulping breath and then her hand came up to her mouth. "Oh, God." She turned and ran down the hall.

Sonny watched her from the open doorway. He looked back over to the brothers, amused with the sight. "Get anything on that device?"

Sam looked back down at the EMF meter. Nothing. He shook his head back to him. He hated to not find anything, but he really hadn't expected that this was the missing link.

Sonny was fumbling at the altar, picking up the pieces of hair, reading the prayer card. "You really think they were trying to have a baby?"

The brothers stood again, taking one last look at what was left of the Storms. Above ground, that is. They each brushed off the denim of their jeans, in case anything was clinging to them and walked back over to the blond man.

"I think so," Sam responded.

"Why the dirt? And the rose?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe part of the earth, something living. I'm not sure."

"Maybe mixing too many beliefs into one," Sonny supplied.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe something didn't mix well."

Dean snatched the EMF and walked back down the hall, checking both rooms upstairs again. No lights. All quiet. He walked into the bathroom and turned around once inside. It had a claw foot bathtub with a shower attached, a toilet and a large porcelain sink.

He listened to the voices around the corner from him.

"Where's your sister?"

A small, unsympathetic laugh. "Probably outside chucking. Told her not to come."

Dean stopped by the sink and opened up the medicine cabinet. Tylenol. Advil. Chlomid. He stopped and looked at the label. It was prescribed to Abby Storm and she was instructed to take one tablet for five days, ten days after the first day of her last period to conceive pregnancy. Dean had actually given up understanding the instructions after the word tablet, but he opened the bottle. Two pills left.

_Huh. She was trying to get pregnant._

Dean closed the cabinet, pocketed the bottle and opened his mouth to yell to his brother when his eyes caught something in the reflection of the mirror. There was a dark cloud behind his head, hovering. It shifted its form to the right and Dean saw small eyes peering out of the blob. They watched him watching it for a second and before either of them could blink, it encircled his head. Instead of exhaling his air, he found himself inhaling. It was a smothering sensation and his heart picked up a few beats as he fought for precious air. Oh, God, it was suffocating him.

And then, just like that, it came alive. His blood felt hot and cold inside his body, it zinged his system from awake to highly alert. He felt on top of the world, synapses firing one after the other, endorphins releasing at a higher rate than humanly possible.

Flashes of color filled his vision. Reds and blues, browns and yellows. Flowers. Leaves. Branches. He took a breath through his nose and the scents overwhelmed him in one horrible attack. He felt a fear hit him hard in the gut for one brief moment and then the smell changed from floral to decay. Death and pain. And didn't he remember that all too well? He saw the clay angel above the trail, saw the arrow pointing in…

Then the surge hit him, folded his body in half, his head dipping into the sink in front of him. He took a long breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds as his body righted itself. He looked ahead and saw his own reflection mirrored back at him. The white of his eyes were red, bloodshot, and hot. His pupils were large and his greens were lost somewhere in the black. He reached his right hand up and stroked his chin, suddenly wanting to break it. Punch himself silly.

He could hear the voices again. Around the corner. In that goddamn murder scene. What were those idiots still doing in there? He took a step out of the bathroom and glowered to his left.

Sonny looked up and smiled at him. Teeth so perfect and white. Hair so fucking blond and feathered. Who the hell feathers their hair anymore? He looked liked a '70's reject of the _Hardy Boys_. What a dope. Couldn't be anything but perfect, could he?

"You find something?"

Dean closed his eyes, willing the feeling to pass. He swore if he opened his eyes again, he'd find that he had magically morphed into something hideous. Something revolting. Just like the way he felt inside.

"…something wrong with you?"

_Shut-up. Goddamn, you stupid mother, if you don't shut the hell up…_

"Dean?"

His eyes flew open on the command of his name and, by God, he was right. He had turned into something hideous. His brows met over the bridge of his nose, a frown forming against his will… but, damn, it felt good, and his hot bloodshot eyes settled on Sam.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Concern. Always full of concern. Always asking but never having any answers. Never able to see beyond his own _needs_. His own _wants_. Dean felt the heat in his veins start to boil. Sam always had it better. Got better grades. Made friends. Got his taste at normal. Got his independence. Got to fall in love.

Dean shook his head. It was wrong. It was hot and furious and… rage. He looked up to meet Sam's eyes, trying to form a warning from his lips. _Run, Sam, Run._ He tried a plea, _Help me, Sam_. But they wouldn't come. And because of that, it only frustrated Dean more. Because, dammit, what if he could tell him? What the fuck would Sam do? Stand there with his eyebrows pinched over his forehead, asking him to talk it out? Or better yet, maybe he'd shoot him. Done that one before. Or even better yet? Stand by and let some stupid ass dogs rip him apart and take him to hell. No, Sam wouldn't help him. Not this time. Not any time.

The rage swam and pounded his head, flooded his heart. Now he got it. It _was_ a rush. He was high and nothing, nothing could bring him down. It felt so good to feel so bad and he clenched his fingers of his right hand close to his palm. _One more time, little brother._

"Dean, are you okay, man?" Pinched fucking brows. Always so goddamned concerned.

His mouth turned up into a wicked smile. His eyes looked wolfish. "Never fucking better." Without another word, without another thought, and without worries of regret, Dean hauled back and slammed his fist across his brother's jaw.

Sonny's eyes went wide and he pushed back at the hunter. "Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

Dean turned to the too tall, too perfect guy and grabbed the back of his head. He yanked the man's head down as Dean brought his own knee up and made a striking whack across Sonny's forehead. The crack that sounded in the hallway echoed twice before Dean let go of the hair, the blond head slumping towards the stairwell.

He turned his attention back to Sam. Dean's eyes flashed a glint of animalistic temper and Sam wasted no time. He hit him in the face. Once. Dean's head snapped back. Twice. He took his body with him, stumbling away from his brother.

The fight was on.

Dean came back up with a throaty growl, his fingers curled in his hands and he lunged at his brother, hitting Sam in the gut with his shoulder. They both flew back down the hallway and into the blood stained bedroom.

Sam hit the ground hard, the floor taking most of his air with it, the rest escaping from the blows Dean was inflicting on him. He glanced up somewhere between the third and fourth to see his brother with that wild, crazed look in his eyes.

_I was angry… crazy angry._

Paul's words sliced through his memory like lightening.

_He talked me out of it somehow._

But there was no way. No way Sam could talk to Dean. Not now. Not with blood flying out of his mouth. His arms came up in self-defense and he coiled his upper body inwards, thwarting Dean's fists until Sam had enough leverage in his middle and turned his body abruptly.

The shift in position was enough for Dean to lose his balance and Sam rolled until he was on his stomach pushing himself up quickly.

Dean was already up, though and headed right for him.

"Dean, wait," Sam started as his brother took a swing. Sam dodged it, his hand coming up and grabbing his brother's wrist.

Dean wiggled free right away. He was going to kill him. Sure, he had the Colt tucked safely away in his waistband but that would be too easy. Why shoot him? This was the person he loved more than anyone on the face of the earth. Putting a bullet in his skull would be too cold, too callous. No, he would rip him apart with his bare hands. Let Sam feel how much he meant to him.

Sam blocked the next several attempts at taking him down. If he could tire his brother out… _another right_… but he sure… _tried with the left_… didn't seem like he… _he likes the right_… was tiring out.

But Sam sure was.

"Something's in you, Dean." Sam was talking smack. _Hell yes, there's something in me. It's called power. Maybe you can relate._ "You don't want to do this." _Don't I?_ "You gotta fight it." _Oh, I'm fighting it._

Two quick jabs made it past Sam's weakening defenses and he felt his nose crunch and his upper lip split open. Stars circled his vision, a good knock to the nose will do that to a person. He saw his brother blur in front of him, becoming twos, then fours and then back again to just Dean. And his fist headed right towards him. Sam tilted his head and caught the tail end of the cuff on his left ear. He brought his own right hook around and smashed into Dean's cheekbone, slapping him off balance again. It wouldn't stop him, but it'd give him a chance to catch a breath.

And talk him out of it.

"What is it?" Sam asked, taking a few steps backwards. He felt the open doorway at his back and kept on walking into the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder. No Sonny. Must have made it downstairs. He wondered for a moment about Cher…

"What's that, Sam?" Dean was matching his steps, taking them faster than his younger brother's. Maybe he could just pick him up and throw him over the banister.

Sam kept going, watching for the stairs. "What do you hate so much?"

Dean grinned. "Thought that was obvious."

His foot hit the top of the landing of the staircase just as the words came regurgitating out of Dean's mouth. Sam looked at his brother – really looked at him and saw the steady determination his brother's eyes held. He'd seen that look so many times in the past. Right before Dean had killed any one of the numerous monsters in their lifetime.

"Obvious?"

Dean's eyes didn't flinch. "You got a lot of hate in you, Sam."

The younger man kept his right foot steady on the top of the landing, his arms guarding himself, his mind racing for the words that would guard his brother. He could taste his own blood in his mouth, could feel it running down his throat from his nasal cavity. "Not for you, Dean. I don't have any hate for you."

Dean's voice was sharp. It was uncaring. Unkind. It sounded nothing like his brother. "A heart of darkness."

Sam swallowed and started slowly down the stairs backwards, not taking his eyes off of the hunter for a moment. Dean kept his pace, watching as Sam made it down to the bottom and joined him on even ground.

"Dean…"

"Game on."

***

_Christmas Eve 1993_

_The snowball hit his face hard. It stung his cheek and caused his eyes to water upon impact and for that reason only, Dean had to look away. The pain was a surprise to him. Sam's throwing arm had definitely improved._

_His little brother's too big feet were in his field of vision now so he looked up at the small face grinning back. Those damn dimples. He was going to break a lot of hearts one day._

"_What you wanna do now?"_

_It was after dark. Houses around the park were lit with Christmas lights and smelled of hams and cookies. _

_He shrugged. "Guess we can go back home."_

_Sam's shoulders fell, his eyes lifted to his brother, his face said everything he wasn't: _Finally. Home.

_They didn't rush the walk back home, though. They stopped a couple of times, looking in large windows of closed stores and checking phone booths for change. Both brothers lingering a little in the cold, buying each other just a few more minutes. Hoping Dad was awake now. Praying that he had remembered. _

_The door creaked open and the first thing that greeted them was the sound of the Eagles singing in perfect harmony._

There are stars in the southern sky/Southward as you go there is moonlight

"_He remembered." Dean heard Sam from behind him, pushing his way through the living room and into the kitchen._

_John was at the stove, a hot sizzle from the skillet, spatula in hand. "Where you boys been?" _

_Sam was next to him before Dean had his boots off. _

"_The park," he answered him, "What is that?"_

"_Santa's Tacos."_

_Dean walked to the doorway and leaned against the jamb, watching Sam grab cheese from the refrigerator to shred. "Whoa," his small voice jumped a notch, "there's all kinds of food in here."_

"_Well, sure," John said as if it happened all the time, "It's Christmas, right?"_

_Dean looked over Sam's shoulder as he started to shut the door to the fridge. Dad had gone shopping. The refrigerator was stocked. Dean was wordlessly grateful. Maybe he hadn't gotten any presents this year. Maybe Santa wasn't coming with a sack full of toys but Dad was here. He bought food. He was cooking. And he was humming along to the music._

Now I have loved you like a baby/Like some lonesome child

_And Sam was smiling. _

And I have loved you in a tame way/And I have loved you wild

"_Why don't you get out some plates, Dean." _

There are stars in the southern sky/And if ever you decide you should go

_John looked at him. He looked tired. Exhausted. Saving the world was hard work. So Dean shoved away from the trim and walked to the cabinet to grab the plates._

There is a taste of time sweetened honey/Down the seven bridges road

"_You mother loved this song." It was said only for the two of them. Dean felt his amulet swing against his chest. It's rhythm keeping time with the beat of the song._

_And he let a small smile slip out._

***

Christmas Eve 2008

Both brothers took stance, feet firmly planted, shoulders squared, two sets of fists came up and they each pulled back from the other. Sam knew Dean would make the first move and Dean knew Sam wouldn't.

He had every intention of taking the swing. The killer swing that would take the damned mopped haired kid off his too damned long legs and sit him on his ass. Then the older brother would have him where he wanted him. Rip him apart… bare hands… take him down… like a dog…

But the white cloud that sat behind Sam's head right now was looking at Dean and he wasn't sure what to do with that. The eyes in the misty smudge blinked and then moved so fast he didn't know where it had gone at first.

Sam coughed once and then again and his stance eased up, his shoulders relaxed his feet came together. His eyes looked pale, his pupils lighter than they had been. His fists unclenched.

_Good God, he put his fucking hands down._

"You don't want to do this." Sam's hand came up and blocked Dean's first blow.

"How the hell do you know what I want?" Dean snarled.

"Because I know you."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You don't know shit about me." He raced up to his brother and shoved him against the wall. His reddened face coming within inches of Sam's, shaking with effort to speak. "You don't know… what I feel..."

Sam's eyes softened. He was battered and bruised. His lips were bleeding. A cut over his right eye was bleeding. A gash across his left cheek was bleeding. His nose was bleeding. His jaw was starting to turn bluish-purple. But he smiled at Dean. "Doesn't mean I don't know you."

Dean pushed him again, harder, against the wall. "Fuck you. You don't…"

Sam felt his ribs start to spread under the pressure, start to separate from the force. He took in a shallow breath and through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Doesn't mean… I don't… care."

The muscles in Dean's arms started to shake. He felt his pupils constrict, the brightness of the room becoming gradually dimmer. He felt the heat from his face release and fall through his body, until his knees became wobbly under his weight and he wondered as he leaned against his brother if it was Sam that was keeping him upright because he thought for sure he was going to fall.

_Don't let me fall._

There was a dull ringing in his ears as the silence from the empty house screamed its way back in and wasn't that just the shit? Sam had his hand wrapped around his forearm and he was gently shaking him back to reality.

"…was weird. You feel that, too?"

Sam's voice was low, but it sounded so loud. Dean held one finger up to him. "Shhh." It was the only word he could think of.

It felt like it was gone, but things hadn't come back to normal quite yet. Sam was still talking. "…air? Outside?"

_Yeah, air. Outside. Yeah._ Dean was nodding his head in agreement.

The hold on his forearm tightened and Sam was leading him out of the Storm murder house. It was a cloudy day, the sun hiding way up high behind the gray, but at this moment… it was way too bright. Way too cold. Just a few minutes ago, Dean had been so warm, his blood was on fire and now the cold was going to be the death of him.

He started to pull away to retreat back to the warmth of the house when Sam let his forearm go.

"Is she okay?" he was saying.

Dean opened his eyes. Shit, had they been closed? He watched as Sam made his way to the twins. Sonny was standing in front of Cher, pacing. Cher was sitting on a stack of railroad ties, obviously scared out her mind. Her arms were covered in scratches, her hands were smeared with red. He glanced at Sonny and noticed the scratches and blood on him as well. Dean tried his best to follow behind Sam. Tried to keep up with those damned long legs that…

Oh, God, he'd tried to kill Sammy. No, he'd _wanted_ to kill him. Which wasn't any better. Dean felt his stomach twist and turn. He was going to hurl.

Sonny was running his non-bloody hand through his blond perfectly feathered hair. A bright red cut over his forehead looked sticky and fresh.

Dean stopped. He had done that. His hands. His knees. He swallowed the build up of bile.

"She was just… she was so mad. I thought she was going to tear me apart."

Sam's brows furrowed. He looked at the marks on each twin and then bent down in front of Cher. "You, too?"

She was shaking. Her eyes squished tightly shut, clamming the world up and away from her own haunting images.

Sonny cleared his throat. "I talked her out of it."

"Yeah, well," Sam nodded, "that's good." He reached a hand out and placed it on Cher's shoulder. "You feel okay?"

The dark head shook back and forth. "This was a mistake." Her eyes lifted. There was a cut on her forehead. "Coming here was a mistake."

Her brown eyes felt accusing when she looked at Sam. They felt sad and empty and held secrets she wasn't speaking of. But, then, so did Sam's. "A mistake? Why do you say that?"

"Because whatever that was… whatever it did to me, I think it told me where it is. Where it lives."

A small bleb of blood made its way out of the gash in Sam's temple. Out of his periphery, he could see the ball form and felt the warmth run down his cheek. "What do mean, Cher?"

Her voice was soft. Barely audible. "A heart of darkness."

Sam went cold. He let her shoulder go and stood, taking a baby step away from her. "What? What did you say?"

She glanced up again, her eyes not seeing the new blood escaping him. "It showed me a picture. Of where it lives."

Sam's throat worked against the thick lump making its home in his throat. "Where?"

There was real fear behind her eyes. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he waited as she stole a long look at Sonny who was staring at her intently, urging her to continue on. Or maybe he just wanted her to shut the hell up. She looked back to Sam. "The garden. Behind our house."

Sam turned to Dean. He shrugged his shoulders and gave him a small smile. "Just a hunch, huh?"

Dean's eyes were steady on his brother. He'd heard Cher's words. He remembered the same visions in his own mind. The fucking flowers. The deadened stems. The damned colors. The freaking smells. The goddamned fear. The stench of death.

He'd heard her. But all he could see was the fresh blood running down his brother's face. "Sammy, you're bleeding."

Then he recalled his thoughts. His feelings. His actions. His words. And all that he had fought so hard to keep inside of him came erupting out in a nasty display of heaves and vomit.

**Playlist:** _Ghost of a Dog_ performed by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians

_Seven Bridges Road_ performed by the Eagles


	3. Head South

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Thanks again for your comments. Believe me, this is so much more polished than my original drafts. Thanks, MAZ for catching all my apostrophe-isms and past-tense blunders. And to my anonymous reviewers, a HUGE thanks! I'd email you personally, but you guys fly under the radar so Thanks!

**Chapter Three: Head South**

Cher was a mess. It wasn't every day she tried to claw apart her only sibling. She had torn into his arms, scratched marks tracking down to his wrists. Used all nine of fingernails. Oddly enough, she had matching marks on her own arms.

Sonny had wrapped his sister from her elbows to her hands with a thin layer of white gauze and had left to get her some Tylenol. She'd feel better once she could relieve the headache that was pounding behind her eyes, he had told her. She had agreed. She would take whatever they had to feel better – Tylenol, Advil, Oxycontin. Whatever. Once he was gone, however, she drew her legs up close to her chest and pulled at her short dark hair. The knots and rings on her lips quivering.

Dean was sitting next to her in the restaurant. Sam had been allowed access up to the third floor to look through two different filing cabinets, searching for builders plans on the house, land surveys of the garden, information on the previous owners. Anything that would help them in finding out what exactly they were dealing with out there. He'd already searched 'cloud demons' and 'cloud entities' and hadn't come up with much.

He hated going into this thing blind.

Dean rubbed his forehead, his hand scrubbing its way through his spiky dark blond hair. Since his return from hell, he thought maybe his hair had came back darker. It was strange the things his mind involuntarily wondered about these days.

"You know what I said to my brother?" Cher interrupted his thought process.

Dean waited. He raised his eyes to her, asking without words. Some things were just too hard right now.

"I told him my life would be easier if he wasn't around." She sounded hollow and quietly embarrassed. "Told him I didn't need him."

Dean nodded.

The bed and breakfast was so quiet. Was it always like this? Is that why she played music 24/7? She couldn't stand the vacant halls of the house? She couldn't stand being left with her own thoughts…

"Sonny isn't even mad. I mean, we haven't talked about it, but I can tell. He's…" she stopped and swallowed the tears that were shining behind her dark brown irises, "he's too good for me."

She was dressed in black. Like her hair. Like her makeup. Her fingernails. Who was she pretending to be?

All Dean could do was clear his throat.

"Older by four minutes." She let out an exaggerated laugh. "He acts like he has to protect me. Like we're not equal, you know?"

Dean could see another tattoo on the girl from where he sat. Down underneath her shirt, peeking out from her breastbone. Looked like some kind of an animal. From the small piece he could see, it had a tail. And it was black.

"But the worst part," Cher took in a shaky breath, she hiccupped, keeping herself from breaking down and God, Dean hoped she would hold it together because right now, there wasn't much he could offer her. He had his own horrible words playing in a loop inside his mind. "The worst part is I called him a murderer."

Dean's eyes narrowed at that revelation. That was news. "What? Why?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I mean, it was an accident…"

"Your parents?"

The dark head bobbed.

"A car accident?"

"Yeah. Sonny was driving. But I never blamed him. I never did." She looked to Dean for reassurance. "Did I?"

Dean held her gaze. All this intentional black. Keep people at an arms reach. Keep them from getting too close. Make herself look as unapproachable as possible. No one can hurt the heart if they aren't allowed inside.

Maybe her heart was black, too.

"No," she answered herself when Dean couldn't. "I don't. I don't blame him. How could I? What kind of a person would do that? It was just an accident." Her eyes were sullen, thinking back to whatever horrific day it had occurred on. Whatever memory stood out in her mind over the others. "Only the good die young."

She was rambling on and part of Dean wanted to shut her goddamn mouth up but instead he found himself trying to follow along because it was easier to listen to her yammer on about her problems than to sit with his own guilt. There was so much he had never blamed Sam for. Never blamed him for shooting him. Both times. Never blamed him for deaths he couldn't control. Never blamed him for being over-concerned. Only blamed him for using powers that he never asked for. Tapping into abilities Dean couldn't possibly understand.

_We're just exercising demons…_

_With your __**mind!**_

"You don't think it made us… you know, see our real feelings, right? Like truths we keep pretending aren't there?"

Dean sighed. _Where was Sonny and the goddamned Tylenol?_ "No, it was just screwing with you. Making you say things and think things… that you really didn't mean. Things it'd know would hurt you." Standard 'it's not your fault' answer. It was what she wanted to hear. She'd buy it.

"After the accident," she rolled her sleeve up on her left arm so Dean could get a good look, "I got this." She turned her shoulder to the hunter, the yin-yang symbol staring back at him. "For Sonny and I."

Dean stared at it. He'd seen it before. It was highly commercialized in this day and age. "What's that say underneath it?" He gestured to the letters scrawled in Chinese.

She pointed to the white side. "This says brother." Then the dark side. "And sister."

Dean's eyes followed up to her face. She was still looking down, staring at her arm and from this angle, he swore he could see another tattoo through her hair, nestled on the top of her skull.

"This whole night," her sleeve released and she looked up to him, "I just feel so dirty," she admitted, sounding almost like a rape victim.

Funny, Dean kind of understood what she meant.

"What about you?"

He looked at her, not really meeting her eyes. They expected too much. "What do you mean?"

"What did you say to your brother?"

Dean's mouth twitched and he felt his face pulling into a frown. He so didn't want to go there. Not with her. Not with anyone, really. Just wished he could make it go away because it wasn't helping anything. Wasn't helping his relationship with Sam. Wasn't helping the way he felt about himself. Wasn't helping in any kind of redemption he had hoped for.

"Uh," his throat was closing up. Too hard to breathe.

"That bad?" She waited and watched him, her dark eyes not moving from his. She had him locked in and if she wanted, she could get him to tell her. Tell her every secret he carried. Every truth he knew. She could make him tell her what he really feared. "That fucked up, huh?"

His eyes flicked away from her, focusing on a picture frame sitting on a large chocolate colored buffet. A distraction. He needed one now more than ever. He picked it up and looked at the couple in the photograph. They were in their late thirties and were strikingly beautiful. The man had feathery brown hair, his arms wrapped lovingly around the slender woman, darker hair, darker complexion.

"Those were our parents." Cher felt closer now, leaning over Dean's shoulder and into his personal space.

Dean's finger grazed over the photo. They looked younger than he would have thought. "What were their names?"

She smiled. He didn't see it, but he could hear her lips spread, the piercings spacing away from one another, her teeth ticking against metal as she spoke, "Joe and Mary."

Of course. Mary. He stared into her photographed eyes that no longer held light of this earth and sighed. She didn't look like his Mary. He put the frame back down. "They looked…" he stalled and then came up with the only word that fit the picture, "happy."

"They were. They had the perfect marriage." She hesitated, closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling through her nose. Sweat and musk and fear. She took a breath and asked, "Your parents?" Her chest seemed to get closer to the man, pressing in towards his back.

Dean pulled away to his left. He turned his head and looked at the girl. Her eyes weren't sad and empty anymore. They weren't embarrassed and ashamed. They were dazzling, dark brown, twinkles blinking back at him. She was drawing him in. But not like she wanted to score. More like she wanted to score lunch.

"Just me and Sam."

Cher sat back, her spine straight in the chair, her short neck taut, listening with her entire body to the man sitting next to her. She licked her lips. "So, what did you blame _him_ for?"

Dean stood up, pushing his chair back in. The way she said 'him' had settled uneasy with the older brother. No one talked about Sam like that. He looked at her straight in the eyes so she would hear him. So she would feel him. "I didn't blame him for anything." Bald faced lie. He'd nailed it.

But she was looking at him like she didn't believe him and he was looking at her like he was telling the truth and it was a showdown until someone looked away.

"Hey."

Dean looked to the left. He lost.

Sam was walking back into the restaurant, a mess of papers and tubes in his hands some tucked under his arms. He tossed the majority of the pile on an available chair and then unrolled one of the papers from a tube. He reached for the salt and pepper shakers, planting one on one end of the paper and the other on the far end to prevent them from curling up.

Dean sidled up next to him, looking down at the surveyors map sprawled out on the meager table top.

Cher was right behind him.

Sam looked over his shoulder. "One hundred seventy-two."

"What?" Cher's eyes formed a question.

"That's how many acres are out there. One hundred seventy-two."

She shrugged. "Is that a lot?"

"Is that… yeah, it's a lot."

He looked back at his brother. "If we walk it, it'll take days to cover the whole thing. We won't make it back to the house. We'll have to camp out there."

Dean's eyebrows gathered in disgust. "Camp?"

"There are no roads, Dean. We can't just drive through it." Sam could see by Dean's expression that his brother was contemplating it. "There's trees and shrubs." Eh, still willing to take the risk. "And mud." That changed his mind. Didn't want his baby getting dirty.

"And we still don't know what we're looking for?" Dean tracked the man-made trail on the map. It went deep. Split at parts, curved around corners, came to dead ends. It led nowhere. Just into the garden. Only one way in. One way out.

"I don't know. Dave and Abby Storm could have brought something unnatural back that originated from the garden. She probably took the rose from there. Maybe the dirt, too…"

"We'll never make it out of there once we get in."

"I have a compass," Sonny came up from behind them. He had brought a glass of water, a couple of Tylenol and a bowl of tomato soup for his sister. She was sitting at the table across from the boys, smiling graciously at him while he crumbled some crackers for her. "We've gotten lost a couple of times out there. You just head south, though and it'll lead you back to the house."

Head south. That was the plan. Go in with everything. Not knowing what this was… or what _they_ were. Kill it – them – with who knows what. Without getting taken over by 'the force'. Without killing each other. And then if – when – the job was done, head south.

Because really? Whatever this thing was – it was just half the battle.

Sam was staring at the clock. "Okay, we've got a few hours worth of light. Why don't we go in just a little ways and see how we do in making it out. See how bad it really is."

"So, we'll just go on a little walk?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Check it out. We can take the sawed-off, a few rounds of rock salt," he saw his brother automatically reach back for his gun, "your Colt."

Dean rotated his shoulders, rolled his neck and looked away. "And the compass." He turned to Sonny, pointing his finger into the air. "This time, you guys stay here."

Sonny's hands came up. "No arguments here."

Cher slurped at the tomato soup behind him. "Chicken."

"Shit," he replied.

www

"Well, it looks pretty old," Sam stared up at the arch, the clay angel staring back down.

It should have looked like a cherub, sweet and angelic, with wings and a baby-like face, but it didn't. It had a longer body with muscles flexing from its arms. Its face was old and worn, a deep frown creasing its skin. Its silvery eyes were gazing down, the little pebbles feeling like they could see through the walls straight to the middle of the soul. See sins. Make judgments.

Sam swallowed hard.

"Follow the yellow brick road," Dean teased from behind him, nudging his brother beyond the arch and onto the dirt path.

Sam's feet didn't want to move as quickly all of a sudden. The dirt from below seemed so fresh and new. Almost as if the garden had just recently been planted and not been in existence for God knows how many years. The dirt took in their weight as they moved in, leaving deep tracks behind them. It reminded Sam of the dirt he had on his hands after he had buried his brother back in Pontiac.

Damned dirt. Stayed on his palms for days.

They pushed back foliage, shoved leaves out of their faces, scrubbed brush out of their hair. So many colors filled the landscape. So many smells filled the air. At times it was sweet, other times it was sickening. There was the normal decay of life and the rotting of fruit fallen from its source seeking the circle of life back in the fine rich soil.

Damned dirt. Probably could still find traces of it under his fingernails.

"Remember that garden we had... when we lived in..."

"Illinois," Sam breathed. He'd had it with Illinois.

"Yeah." Dean cleared away most of the growth, keeping the path clear for the both of them. "It was tiny, though."

"We picked those tomatoes and tried to make salsa."

Dean laughed. "I forgot about that. That shit was gross."

"What'd you expect? All you did was add water. I told you that we had to put in other stuff."

"Dad ate it, though." Dean looked up to his taller brother. The hazy sun was lightly casting golden rays on his face, the fresh scars and new bruises mapping out the assault from earlier. Sam glanced down to meet his brother's eyes. Dean looked away. It was safer if he kept his mind on other things. "What was it that you liked to eat... from that garden?"

Sam's shoulder bumped into his brother. "Rhubarb."

"That's right." Dean watched the dirt, his eyes catching the quick flashes of any possible ambushes. "Now _that_ was nasty."

Sam's shoulder bumped into his again. This time deliberate. Dean didn't look up, though. Sam knew when his brother was avoiding something. Or someone. Even when it was himself.

"You want me to clock you one?"

That got a small smile. "Think you owe me more than one, Sam."

There was a few beats of silence. Just the sounds of leather boots crunching on the earth's ground.

_I guess I gotta save your ass for a change..._

"Yeah, I owe you." Sam looked over to the right, away from his brother. Some paybacks just took longer.

"So, what do you think is up with this garden?"

Sam looked around. A large bush with pale pink leaves, curled at the tips, grew in untamed batches off to his right. "I don't know."

Dean's eyes were scanning the area. "I don't see any dark clouds." He smiled at himself. It had been his past experience that the Winchesters always had their fair share of dark clouds hanging over them.

"Or white ones," Sam rubbed gently at his chin, the purple-bluish bruise much darker now.

"So," Dean started, casting a line.

"Yeah?" A small tug.

"You…" he cleared his throat. "You okay?"

Sam's eyes skimmed across the foliage. Landed on Dean. "Yeah, man. I'm okay." They walked a few steps, holding the connection. "I know. It wasn't you."

Dean let his breath go. Looked away. "Been here before."

"No shit."

"It didn't feel like a possession, though."

"What did yours feel like?"

_Hot. Burning. Anger. Rage._ "A rush. I guess the kid was right. It just… it felt powerful."

Sam nodded. He may have understood that more than Dean knew. "Mine wasn't like that."

Dean waited.

"It was more like a calm. It almost had to warm up inside and then it was peaceful."

Dean's brows bunched over the bridge of his nose. Peaceful. Wasn't sure he could remember the last time he real peace in his life. "It did make me want to, you know, kill you."

Sam kept walking. "I know."

Which the whole 'I understand' bit was sucking now because there was such a big part of Dean that wanted Sam to be mad. Hold it against him some how. Not forgive him and ignore it ever happened. Hell, it was plotted and diagramed all over Sam's face.

"We gotta find this thing so we can figure out how to kill it." Dean's voice was harder than he wanted, but if he killed it maybe _that_ would make him feel better.

"First we have to know what it is." Sam curved with the path. "Then decide if we're taking it down…"

"Of course we are."

"We don't even know what it is yet, Dean."

"Evil, Sam. That's what it is. It's wrecking havoc. Causing murders and, and… running amuck."

"Amuck?"

Dean waved his hands. "We gotta find a way to kill it."

"Not everything has to die, man. Got to look at the big picture."

Jack Montgomery. Jack Montgomery had done this to them. Dean stomped next to his brother, holding his thoughts in. Couldn't kill him. Had to try to _talk_ to the guy. His shoulders tensed up at the memory. Of course there was also Lenore and her gang of vegetarian vampires. Sam had been right about that one. And Ruby. Never known a demon with a conscience before.

"It's just easier if it's black and white," Dean murmured.

"Life's not that easy. It's all a grayscale."

That's where Sam lived. Out there with all the rest of them. Sitting somewhere on an invisible gray line.

Dean? Dean had been testing his footing, too. It was just tough taking those first steps. Black and white came with a safety net that the gray just didn't employ.

"Look."

Dean stopped, over to their right was a large, thorny bush. It was pretty much dead now, or at least dormant in the cold, but in its glory it was covered in majestic blue roses. Some were still attached, withered and unpleasant to look at - not to mention smell - but still easy to spot.

"So, Abby and her husband made it all this way." Dean glanced at his watch. "Been in here about an hour."

Sam turned back the way they had came. "Ready to go back?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. We can go back, pack up and get an early start in the morning. Start walking until we find something."

"Or something finds us."

"You're cheery, you know that?" Dean sneered.

***

_Christmas Eve 2003_

_He had waited for it all week long. This Christmas was going to be different. It was going to make up for all the past crappy Christmases. His first Christmas at normal. His first Christmas at Stanford. His first Christmas with her. Of course, they were in college and all students grabbed their suitcases and high tailed it home over the holiday. Thank God they lived in an apartment and not in the dorms. That would have been so much worse. Colder. Lonelier. _

_But not tonight. Not this time. Jess promised she'd be back tonight and would spend Christmas Eve with him – just the two of them in each others arms. Then in the morning they would drive back to her parents' house together for Christmas Dinner. Turkey. Ham. Mashed potatoes. Singing. Presents. Relatives. Normal._

_But she hadn't shown up yet and Sam didn't have a back up plan. He'd tried her on the cell but she hadn't returned his calls. _She's busy_, he thought. _She'll call.

_So when the phone buzzed, he answered it without hesitation. _

"_Hey." Trying to sound like he hadn't been waiting. Like he wasn't desperate to hear from her._

"_Hey, Sam."_

_A pause. Sam looked away out into the emptiness of the apartment. "Dean?"_

_Another pause. "Yeah." Sounded… lonely._

"_What're… what're you doing?" Sam felt behind him for the bar stool. His knees wobbled, threatening to not hold him up anymore._

"_Eating popcorn. Listening to music."_

_Sam listened through the receiver. Sounded like _Witchy Woman_ in the background and his face broke out into a smile. "Eagles?"_

"_Dad's version of Christmas carols."_

_Sam nodded into the phone. "Good. So Dad's there."_

_A too-long, uncomfortable pause. He knew the answer. _Shit.

"_No."_

"_Oh." Sam quietly wondered how hard it was for Dean to pick up the phone and dial his number on this night of all nights. Took a lot of guts and probably a lot of beer. "Dean…"_

"_So, you, uh… who you spending the holidays with?" It was awkward. Asked hesitantly. Almost like he was leading into a forced invitation. _

"_Well," Sam looked around, "there's this girl."_

"_Yeah?" Genuinely intrigued. _

"_Yeah. I might be doing something with her later." _Might? What am I saying?

"_She gonna take you home to meet the folks?" Sort of joking. Sort of serious. Hard to read over the phone._

_Another pause. How long had it been since he had talked to his brother? "Maybe."_

_Silence._

Aw, God, Dean, I'm sorry.

_Too damn long._

I had to go. I didn't mean to leave you. It wasn't about you. Never about you.

"_Well, Sam, I just wanted to call and say…" there was a break in his voice and Sam wondered what exactly it was Dean really wanted to say. "Just, you know, Merry Christmas. And… and all that."_

_Sam closed his eyes. _And all that? Fuck that._ Suddenly Christmas with Jess wasn't as important anymore. "Dean…"_

"_You take care, okay?"_

_He was losing him. Two more seconds and he'd be gone. One more second and he'd hang up the line. He blurted it out before he even thought about it - "I miss you."_

_The silence took his breath away. It was heavy and painful and all Sam could do was wait. Holding the damned phone up against his ear, his palm sweating, making the receiver slippery. Hadn't even noticed that before. His heart was pounding and nothing was being said back. He couldn't breathe. _Shit._ He had already gone. He'd lost him in one breath. His eyes shut and he wasn't, he wasn't breathing._

_Then he heard a voice clear on the other end. It was cleared a second time before his brother trusted his voice. "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. Me, too."_

_The line clicked and Dean disappeared from his life again and a tear ran down Sam's cheek without him even realizing it. In one breath he had him. The next it was over. He never even asked where he was. Was he in California? Could they have met up? He wasn't lying to him. He missed his brother._

_Strange how on Christmas Eve with so much to look forward to it was now that he felt it. The loss of his family, the ache for a crappy Christmas. And it hurt. _

_He heard the key turn in the lock and he was already wiping away at the lone tear, sniffing back his emotions and putting on a smile as all those blond curls came bouncing in the front door and smashed into his arms. _

_Just what he'd been waiting for._

_He held her tight and wanted to bawl when she whispered "Merry Christmas" to him and kissed his neck. He never wanted her to let him go and yet his heart wasn't where it had been a few moments before. _

***

Christmas Eve 2008

Sam turned on his heels and started them in the other direction. They walked quite a ways in silence, both putting on their gloves as they continued. It had been unseasonably warm, but with the sun setting, the cold was drawing in. Sam pulled his jacket around him tighter, keeping his body warmth trapped inside. He thought he heard a rustle off to his left and slowed a bit, his senses alerting. Dean was still strolling next to him, his bow-legged walk not faltering. Maybe Sam had imagined it. Maybe his boots had nudged into the dead leaves without him knowing. Maybe there was a rabbit...

There it was again. Definite rustle, like something was slithering behind the bushes.

Sam's elbow came up and jabbed Dean in the side.

"What?"

"You hear that?"

Dean leaned in, catching the end of the last rustle. "Probably just an animal."

Sam stopped and turned to the brush that towered in front of him. Little trees with spiky needles. Still green. Too green. Reminded him of miniature Christmas trees. _Fucking perfect._ He tried to push down the thick needles, tried to shove them out of his way to peer through the small opening he had created with his gloves.

But it had stopped.

"See anything?"

Sam looked down as far as he could. "No."

His brother sighed behind him. "We're almost out of here. I'm sure this place is crawling with all kinds of animals."

Sam backed out of the tree and looked at him. "Yeah, it's just... I thought it sounded like the same thing from last night."

Dean's eyes fixed on the path, the thought of getting out, and then over to his brother. He resigned, crouching down low and crawled in under the tree. His hands pushed back the thistles and the branches. "Hold on," Dean reached his hand in passed the greenery and grabbed something. "Oh, my, God..."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Dean backed up and looked at his brother, pulling his hand back. He showed the wrapper of a Butterfinger candy bar. "Looks like the Storms came this way after all."

The wrapper was crumpled up and pulled away as Sam turned in a huff. "Dean..."

"Just some animal. That's all." He pushed up and started walking down the path.

"It's this way," he heard Sam call to him. Dean turned around looking around his brother and then over his own shoulder. Looked the same way going in as it did coming out.

"No, it's," he held up the compass. Sam was right. It was the other way.

"Head south, right?" Sam asked, taking a few steps.

Dean shook his head. "Yeah." He turned and looked again in the opposite direction. "Guess it is pretty easy to get yourself turned around in here."

They walked out of the trail shoulder to shoulder, the clay angel perched on his spot, watching as they passed under. Its eyes looked surprised.

"Thing is creepy," Dean muttered under his breath as they safely made it back to the grass.

Sam stole a look at it. It was staring directly at him.

"You made it out."

The brothers glanced up to see Sonny approaching them. He was smiling with his perfect white teeth, his blond hair catching in the wind as he walked their way.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "I think we'll go back tomorrow and check it out better."

Sonny was smiling now. "Come on in. I made chili, if you'd like."

Dean was all smiles. Yeah, they liked.

The chili had hit the spot. Spicy and sweet, cornbread on the side. And free.

The foursome had eaten together. Sonny did the majority of the talking, still trying to piece together what could possibly be causing these severities of emotions. What it could be that would drive people to kill one another. He had talked about the garden and about the time he and Cher had gotten lost out there. How they had to sleep under a large tree and finally made it out after being lost for over eighteen hours. And, no, they hadn't heard anything in there when they were trapped. With the exception of a few birds and crickets. No other animals, though. And, the angel? Sonny didn't know where it had come from. It had been there before they had ever taken possession of the place and his parents had never mentioned it.

"This is a picture of your parents?" Sam had asked, eyeing the same picture Cher had shared earlier with Dean.

"Yeah," Sonny smiled at the photograph. His eyes creased and Sam looked at the younger man. Hard to say who he looked like... or Cher for that matter. Neither really resembled anyone in the small family.

Dean had shrugged on his jacket again. He slapped his brother on the back in an "Let's go" motion and headed for the door.

"Only place that would be open at this hour would be Johnson's. I think they'll have what you're looking for."

Dean made a face. "It's only seven o'clock..."

"Yeah," Sonny nodded, "but it's Christmas Eve. Everybody closes early."

Dammit. Dean shot a sharp look at Sam, but his brother wasn't looking back. In fact, if Dean could have bet on it, he'd say Sam was doing whatever he could not to look at him. Last Christmas had been hard, he knew, but this Christmas... it was about the job. Forget the rest. Concentrate on what they could do. Not what they couldn't.

All their hopes of escaping the jolly holiday, though were squashed quickly. Johnson's was the cornerstone of Galila and the modest store was decked out. Attempts in selling last minute lights to fruitcake to hard to find gifts were displayed and advertised everywhere. In every color of blinking Christmas neon.

Sam and Dean needed supplies. They hadn't stocked up on much lately and they needed everything. Extra batteries for the flashlights, extra bandages and antibiotic cream for the first aid kit, gun powder, grease, jerky.

They needed all kinds of things.

They had split up, each with a small list of supplies when they first entered the small store and quietly, just as if they had planned it, met up at the cash registers at the same time.

"Got it all?" Dean asked, swinging his full red basket towards his brother.

"Yep." Sam's equally full basket stayed near his side, too heavy to swing.

"You boys getting your last minute gifts?"

The voice was familiar. It was sweet and husky and pure. They turned around and saw Julie standing behind them, pushing a cart, a three-year-old tucked inside, the two-year-old from before on her hip.

"Hey," the boys smiled at the same time, greeting her back.

"Not going to have a white Christmas," she observed looking out the large windows of the store. It hadn't snowed for over three weeks. And all of that snow had melted away. Leaving everything muddy and brown.

Dean followed her eyes to the outside. "Guess not."

"Kids'll be disappointed." She sighed as she peered over into their baskets, getting a feel of what they were buying. "Can tell a lot about a person from their shopping cart." Bottled water. Double D batteries. Peanut M&M's. M-Pro 7 Solvent. A toothbrush. No Christmas presents, though. Her face grazed over theirs, a mother's concern falling on to them. "How you boys doing?"

"Good," Sam answered. He pulled his red basket a little closer to his body.

"You have Christmas plans?"

Just what they needed. She could feel the tension roll off the backs of both men. She could see the constriction in their eyes. She could hear them saying more than they were. Falling over words. Talking over one another. Defense. Offense. It was well played and had been organized for years.

"Well, we..."

"Had chili..."

"And later..."

"Maybe a movie..."

"Staying up the road..."

"Nice place..."

"The Garden..."

"Not sure about tomorrow..."

"The Garden?" Julie's voice raised in question. "You didn't mention that you're staying there."

Dean was nodding back, Sam was staring. Neither was speaking.

"I bought some canned peaches from them this summer. Hot July day. Those poor kids." She bounced the two-year-old on her ample hip. "They lost their parents, you know. Some kind of an accident."

"Yeah," Dean replied, "Car accident."

Julie smiled. "Well, I don't know. I've never had the heart to ask. I do know we've all enjoyed their canned goods, their applesauce." She rubbed her tummy. "Kids love to eat 'em." She rubbed the toddler's tummy as well. "But, they're a bit odd."

"Oh," Dean moved a hand over his face, "you mean... the girl, with all her..."

"Body art," Sam supplied.

Julie handed the three-year-old a lollipop before he started fussing, just like she knew he would and then grabbed one for the two-year-old so he wouldn't be jealous of his sibling. She didn't play favorites. "No. I don't mind her. It's _him_."

She referred to Sonny as though he was sinister. As though he had done something unforgivable. Something heinous. And that Sam and Dean should know what she meant.

But they didn't.

"He creeps me out," she admitted, "Makes me feel like he can, I don't know, read my mind or something." She could see by the brothers' reactions that they weren't following her. "You know what he said to me the last time I saw them? After everything had happened with Luke?"

"What?" Sam let the red basket fall onto his forearm.

"He asked me why I forgave Luke and I told him it was the right thing to do." She took a breath and thought about her next words, "Then he looked at me with those blue eyes of his and said the world was a dangerous place to live, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." She waited, watching the brothers. "Why would he say that? I did something. I forgave him. There is nothing greater a person can do than to forgive."

"Julie," Sam ran the words through his mind, they sounded familiar, "you bought peaches off of them?"

"Yeah."

Sam turned to his brother. "Luke bought tomatoes off them. Paul said he and his mom were going to get some applesauce. The Storms had been in their garden."

"They knew them all," Dean's eyes narrowed, not sure what to do with this information.

Sam looked back to the mother, still bouncing the child, still keeping them both quiet in the busy store. "When did they move here?"

It was a stupid question to ask, they should have put it together before.

"Oh, I suppose May or so."

"The same time the Storms were murdered," Sam muttered to his brother.

Dean was looking at him like he had lost his mind.

"Shopping for anyone particular?" Julie asked.

"What?" Sam's attention diverted back to the mother. Back to the holiday. Back to normal. "Oh, no, not..."

"Picture frame is always a nice idea," Julie pointed to the display case off to her right. There, staring back at the trio was a picture of a man, dark hair feathered back, his arms wrapped around a lovely dark-complected woman.

"Mary and Joe," Dean exhaled.

"Well, it's my turn," Julie pushed the cart forward, taking her young boys with her. "Hope Santa finds you," she wished to them.

Sam forced a thin smile from his lips and turned to glare at Dean. "What the..."

"Think it's one of them or both of them?" Dean interrupted.

The red basket slid to his wrist and Sam just blinked. "I don't know." He closed his eyes for a moment. Cher was so outwardly wrong. Against everything from society to her own brother. Harsh and screaming. While Sonny was exactly that. He was so kind. So good. So cheerful. Maybe it was all an act. Maybe each were holding masks. Holding their own cards to play. Maybe they weren't even human.

But if they weren't, what the hell were they?

www

Dean pulled the Impala up to the curb. Darkness had fallen over the house, the pink lost somewhere in the shadows. The garden stood eerily in the background, flowers and plants standing quiet and tall. They seemed to sing a warning to them as they exited the car.

"Albert Einstein." Sam suddenly remembered.

"What? Where?"

"What Sonny said to Julie. It was a quote from Albert Einstein."

"You need to find a hobby, Sam." Dean walked around to the back of the car, his brother following him quietly.

"We don't even have a plan," Sam was reminding him as he popped the trunk.

Dean took out a shotgun, loaded it with the new rounds they just purchased and looked over to Sam. "Guess we gotta make one up."

"Dean." Sam grabbed at Dean's jacket as he turned away from the trunk. "We don't know if there's anything even up with them."

"So you think this is all Kosher?"

Sam sighed. "What is with you? Look, I don't know if they are _evil_. Okay? But neither do you. You just can't go in there waving around a gun and expecting them to act normal."

His brother's body sank next to the trunk and Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

Dean bit at his bottom lip, contemplating. Black and white had been so easy. Shoot first, ask questions later. This life of living in gray was a struggle. Question first. Then shoot.

Still same end result.

"So, what? We just go in and pretend like everything's lemon pie and peaches?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, something like that. I mean," he took a deep breath. God, he so didn't want to go here, but, "You know, it's Christmas Eve…"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe they're just normal people. Maybe it's the house. Maybe it's something in the garden. We just… we need more information."

Dean ran a hand down his face, the ring on his finger catching the light from the moon up above. He was jumping to conclusions. He couldn't help it. In all honesty, it wasn't the case or the people in the house or the people who had died. It was just that Dean wanted to skip the day. Wake up tomorrow and not have it be December 25th. Just sleep it away and wake to December 26th.

"Yeah, you're right." He tucked the shotgun underneath his jacket and nodded towards the door. "Don't expect any caroling, though. They don't even have a wreath on their door."

They started walking up the sidewalk side by side, guns hidden under clothing, flush with their skin, knives concealed to the naked eye, when they heard her.

Cher. She was… yelling. No, screaming at her brother.

Dean's arm came out and pressed against Sam's chest, stilling them both along the sidewalk.

"Why?" She was shouting. "What is this?" There was a low growl in response, too soft to make out. And then Cher shrieking again, "Why, Sonny? Why'd you do this again?"

Dean's hand was now fisting Sam's jacket. "It's Sonny," he whispered.

Sam squinted. "_What's_ Sonny?"

Then came the pleas. "Stop!" followed by "I swear I won't…"

The door flung open by the force of Dean's boot and both brothers entered through the front, guns drawn, easily sweeping the entryway, eyes traveling up the stairs.

"Cher!" Dean hollered out.

She didn't reply, though, only the music that she always had playing answered him.

_Everybody gonna come on in/Like, like c'mon in, yeah, yeah_

They entered to the right into the barren restaurant and their eyes settled on Sonny and Cher, at the end of the room. Sonny's left hand was tight over Cher's mouth, his right grasping strands of her dark hair. He was chanting something at her, something that made her eyes grow wild with fright.

_Praise God who has many names/The devil have many more_

"Sonny!" Sam yelled out, bringing his Glock out in front of him, pointing it directly at the blond head. There was enough of a height difference that he wouldn't miss.

But Sonny moved fast, bringing Cher around him, blocking his body with hers. She struggled under his hold, attempting desperately to jar him from behind her. Get enough space between their bodies to make a move…

_With the love that my mother gave me/I'm gonna drop the devil to the floor_

A growl released from the man and his body surged forward, morphing his skin into a bubbly formation. It erupted like a puss pocket, a white goo oozing down his cheek. His left hand slapped against it and smoothed it back into place, blending it with the rest of his skin. "Stay back," he warned the Winchesters as they continued the slow dance towards him. "I mean it."

_Brother,sister/Brother,sister/I'm gonna drop the devil to his knees_

They weren't listening, though. And as they came within a few feet of reaching Cher, almost able to swing an arm out to pull her to them, Sonny's skin bubbled again and with an ear piercing screech his hands wrapped elastically around his sister's face and he pulled her through the swinging doors of the dining room, through the kitchen and out the back door leading into the garden.

**Playlist:** _Eh-Hee_ performed by the Dave Matthews Band


	4. You Stick

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** It hit -18 here today and the Internet froze up so now that we are at -8 and it's running again! Here's the next installment… and to MAZ101, my humble beta. I tweak these chapters after she sends them back to me so if you notice a mistake, believe me, they're mine. They're all mine.

**Chapter Four: You Stick**

They ran the same path the twins had from the restaurant out of the house, through the yard and to the garden. Dean patted his coat pocket once to be sure he had the compass before they hit the trail and cursed himself for being so trustworthy. Sonny – or whatever it was – probably never needed the compass to get out of the garden once he was in anyway.

They flew past the arch, Sam's eyes automatically taking a glance. Even in the night, the beads of silver flickered back, accusingly. They sprinted by the homemade arrows pointing in, tempting the outside world. Then felt a sucking rush as the garden took them in, the leaves bending towards their bodies, clinging to their coats as they dashed by.

They went in on their own free will, guns out in front of them, aiming at branches and twigs, their eyes catching flowers blowing gently, small trees standing like men. They told themselves their eyes were playing tricks on them in the dark, using the shadow against the light.

It was hard to decipher anything in here. So much life and death living in perfect harmony. One to beguile; the other to betray.

They jogged most of the way, already returning to the original spot that took them an hour to get to earlier; this time reaching it in about fifteen minutes time. No sign of Sonny and his perfect goddamn teeth or Cher and her freaky piercings or where either may have disappeared to.

"They could be anywhere by now," Dean mumbled, his gun pulled in closer to his chest as he scanned a heavy bush to his right.

Sam turned his head, acknowledging his brother with a nod. "Who knows if what he said was even true or not. There could be anything in here to hide in. Caves, tunnels, maybe a small cabin."

"It was all lies." Dean slowed his jog to a quick walk, keeping up easily with Sam's long strides. "But, uh," he cleared his throat in intention, "what do you think about Cher?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Either something's possessing her brother or her brother's had a bad secret this whole time that she's been keeping."

"She told me that she had called him a murderer. That she had blamed him for their parents' deaths."

"Okay, well, that sounds like she's known something then."

"Yeah, but she didn't seem really scared. She was… she was weird. I don't know…" It was good that they were moving because Dean thought so much better on his feet and these puzzle pieces weren't fitting together the way they should. "You think she's clean?" Dean looked up to his brother, checking his vibe against his own.

Sam shook his head back. "Don't want to discount her."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "Me, either."

Sam wouldn't second guess again. Not after Jack fucking Montgomery. Not after they let him slide by. No, after _he_ let him slide by. Got Travis killed. Not after he discovered it was easier to let evil take over. Easier to let evil guide his life. Especially when it had been making it's home inside of him as far back as he could remember. Waiting to fester and erupt, slime down his face and mark it for everyone to see.

Yes never looked so good.

Some days he thought it got harder saying no to himself. To what was burning inside. Hard to deny the growing need and desire. Ignore his curiosity. At times he felt like a ticking time bomb, the dark areas inside him filling with the lies he told himself.

If he could fool himself, maybe he could fool the world. Or at the least, the devil.

He questioned how much his Dad had known. Did he know how hard it would be for Sam? How hard it would be for him to fight it? Maybe that's why he pushed him so hard all the time. Fought with him to prepare him, not because he disagreed with his son, but because he couldn't tell him the truth. Omitted phrases like 'demon blood' and 'special children'. Built his strength and tested his limits. Maybe he had been preparing him for this all the while.

_I've got demon blood in me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean!_

It was easier said than done. Being good and doing good. And that was for regular people. Sam? Sam wasn't so regular anymore. Never recalled being there. Just always wanting it. Needing it. Longing for it. And when he tasted it, he wanted to stay and he wanted to flee.

But if he was being honest with himself, he knew his normal would never last. He just chose to ignore it and if that wasn't deceit, if that wasn't evil, he didn't know what was.

"Sam, you hear that?"

Sam stopped in front of his brother, feeling him at his back, knowing his gun was raised just inches behind him. It felt safe and right.

It was the same strange sound from before. The rustling was coming from his left, low to the ground. It was a slither, like a snake, not like a furry animal hopping for food. It was covert and sleek. It was a predator.

Sam nodded and started to walk towards the flowers, off the beaten path, where the rustling was coming from.

"Keep close," he heard his brother whisper as he followed behind him.

They walked into the dead leaves and dirty ground, their presence known to all from the noise they brought with them. Hands coming out, pushing branches away, flowers shooed out of their eyes.

It was rustling to the right now and Sam turned with Dean, their ears not missing it. It was maybe just beyond the next bush up ahead…

And then it was to the left again. Damned thing moved fast. Too fast.

"It's circling around us." Dean stopped, his body at a standstill, in tune to the sound as it made its way around the bush.

"Do you see anything?" Sam looked down, the leaves, the brush undisturbed.

"No."

Sam crouched low, his knees bending as far as he was allowed without hitting the ground with his backend. His hands came out in front of him and he held them up, feeling the air around him. His eyes closed for a few seconds as he listened to the rustling, trying to pinpoint exactly which direction it was coming from. The hairs on his hand stood on end and he felt a warmth against his palm. It grew hot, then cooled, and then pulled.

Sam's eyes snapped open. In the near distance he could see two eyes staring back at him. They were slanted, yellow-gold and cold as death. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They just stared.

And pulled.

"Dean."

His brother was behind him again. He could feel him, knew he had the gun, knew he was within inches and it felt wrong.

"Dean, go away."

"What?" His confused voice was razor-sharp. Alerted.

"Go away."

Sam felt his brother come closer. His hand was on Sam's shoulder – too heavy - and he was pulling back. Sam felt a tug forward from an invisible force and then felt his brother tug back again. He watched the gold eyes stare, not blinking, not wavering, knowing it would win.

Evil always won.

So Sam did the only thing he could think of. He shut his own eyes and the energy lifted. He felt himself being pulled back by his shoulders, his brother jerking him back from the force that had bound him.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean had him under his armpits, yanking him up to his feet, turning him around to face him. His hands on Sam's upper arms now, demanding him to look at him with only his body, no words.

Sam opened his eyes. His brother was staring back now. That… that felt good. "I think there's something else in here."

"No shit."

Dean rammed his younger brother back through the thicket of foliage, trying to find the dirt trail they had followed up. All they found was more flowers, though. Trees towering over them. Bushes full of thorns. One scraped the back of Dean's hand real good. The blood spilled instantly.

He fumbled in his pocket for the compass. East. They were going East. He quickly assessed his coordinates. "Keep going," he growled when Sam slowed. It had to be the right way. The path, maybe it was just deeper than he thought. Or maybe it had curved around and they had passed the turn. If they continued on, they had to come to it. Eventually.

More spikes and thorns, snagging at their clothes, scratching at their faces.

"Jesus Christ, Dean, are you sure?"

Dean grabbed his brother's jacket and shoved Sam behind him. What good was it being the navigator if you weren't in the lead anyway? "I'll push the stupid branches out of the way."

"Dean…" Sam shut his mouth. He was already behind him now and tagging along, not leading, but still complaining. "If we're lost…"

"Not lost, Sam."

"You sure?"

"We're in the garden."

There was an infuriated huff breathed hard enough that Dean felt it against the back of his neck.

"Head East. We'll hit it."

"Hey, you've got the compass."

"What does that mean?"

There was a pause, just the sound of branches hitting legs, arms. "Nothing."

"You got something to say, Sam, just say it."

Needles. Little tiny needles off those little tiny fucking evergreens. Maybe they were getting closer. "You're just… all ears, that's all."

"What?" Dean turned half way around and then back again. "I listen." He paused and then added with a sly grin, "I'm an awesome big brother."

"Didn't say you weren't."

"Well," Dean thrust a large spiky arm of a tree out of the way, "there was an implication."

Sam let out a small laugh.

"Besides," Dean continued on after making sure Sam had made it through the row of evergreens intact, "I'm not the one with the attitude problem, dude."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, tell him what he really thought and then shut it just as quickly. His brother was right and that really only pissed him off more. Nothing like living up to being the baby of the family.

"So spill it." Dean waited, not expecting to hear much and that's exactly what he got. Just the stomping of the boots behind him. He shook his head to himself. _Fine. Freaking kid – _Dean's mind stopped. His eyes squinted shut for a split second. Had to stop saying that. Had to stop thinking that._ Annoying… yeah, Annoying kid wants to pout over whatever the hell is bothering him, he could just go right ahead._

"Ever wish we didn't have to spend Christmas like this?"

_That's what's bothering him?_ There was a sticky bush dead ahead so Dean turned right and passed along side a batch of wild orchids. "Like what?"

"Like this," Sam pushed his body through a row of plants, trying to keep up with his brother, "on a hunt."

"We weren't _always_ on a hunt."

"Felt like it."

A heavy sigh. "He did the best he could."

Sam wanted to correct him. _He?_ Hell, half the Christmases they had consisted of _them_. He could take the shot, knock his Dad down a peg. But what for?

He did do the best he could.

"Yeah, he tried." Sam's voice was mellow holding a much needed touch of respect.

"Hell, yeah, he did." Dean's memories were apparently cozier than Sam's. "We were together, right?"

Sam wasn't sure which 'we' he meant.

"You know he could have dumped us off. Left us at Pastor Jim's. Or let DHS take us. Put us in a home somewhere."

"Or just never come back."

That seemed to steal Dean's words for a minute, which made Sam's gut tighten. The memories from their childhood were interpreted differently. Dean remembered things he'd never confess to Sam.

"Well, he always did. He always came back," Dean's voice was more sullen now.

Sam trudged cautiously. "Right. I mean, he didn't have to. Couple of kids getting in the way… he didn't have to…"

"We were his anchor, Sam."

"What?"

Dean glanced behind his shoulder. "We were his normal. His connection to a real life." He sped his pace up a bit. "His connection to mom."

Sam swallowed at a lump that had crept into his throat.

"But, we had a nice Christmas last year," Dean reminded him.

_Jesus, were they still talking about Christmas?_ "Well, yeah," Sam stopped.

"Yeah, what?"

"It was just…"

Dean kept walking, stomping on a patch of flowers now – maybe goldenrods, but really not even caring what he was walking over anymore. He just wanted to get the hell out of all this gloomy colorful life and back to the empty trail. "Forced?"

He waited for the smart-ass reply. Waited for the "I'm sorry" for the "It's Christmas" followed by the "We never had anything". But it didn't come. Dean walked a few more steps. "You want to celebrate Christmas so bad, keep your ass moving. The trail has got to be…" he turned around.

Just broken brush. Tramped on flowers. Branches snapped by his own hands.

"Sam?"

No answer.

Dean walked back. "Sam?" He moved in a straight line, pushing back the same foliage, until he reached the little evergreens. Sam had been with him when they had passed through. He turned back and started again, rethinking their conversation. Where his hands were when he was talking, what he was thinking when he noticed the wild orchids or when he stomped on the golden rods. Sam had been with him up to this point.

"Sam!" Dean's voice boomed into the night air. He swiveled to the left, spun to the right. _Goddamn._ No Sam. He had just been right there, walking with him. Hell, he had been talking - being a pain in the ass - and then… nothing. Just silence. There had been no sounds of struggle, no one calling out his name. Just nothing. _What the…_

Dean traced the area again, his third time, the flashlight in his hand now, beaming from above, scanning the area quickly and methodically. He crouched down, looking for clues. He'd take anything – rumpled brush, drag tracks, blood. Anything. Nothing was worse than vanishing into thin air. But that's what it looked like so far.

His brother was just gone.

"Shit," Dean breathed, rising back to a standing position. He tilted his head up. Just the endless black sky looking back down. Way down. No stars. Not even a moon tonight. It was suddenly too dark. Each time he shifted his sight, shifted his body, his eyes had to refocus to the pitch black surrounding him.

"Sam!" From his gut that time. He meant business. If Sam didn't hear him, he'd make sure whatever took him did.

But the only thing that answered him was his own voice ricocheting back to him.

He took a few reluctant steps away from the last spot where he had seen his brother. He tramped through a patch of dead sunflowers, hanging taller then his own build. They moved stiffly against his push and seemed to pull back to him. Dormant florets acted like miniature daggers as they pricked the sides of his cheeks. The smells were everywhere, some sweet, some sour as he forged on, trying to ignore the assault on his senses. A group of holly bush scraped his thighs to the right as he emerged from the dead flowers back onto the beaten path he and Sam had followed in the beginning.

Fresh dirt. Right there in front of him the whole fucking time. The path the angel had directed them to. Damned arrows.

The air changed directions as Dean's boot hit the ground and the foliage around him fussed noisily, stirring uneasily. A bulky figure off to the left caught his immediate attention. It moved like a human, well balanced and graceful for its size. It stood quiet and cool, with its back to the hunter. Dean raised his Colt out in front of him and pulled back the hammer.

"Don't move," he warned bitterly, closing the gap between himself and the misty shape. He kept his hand steady, the gun held comfortably in his grip like it belonged there. His eyes narrowed and he canted his head to the right.

What he saw almost took his breath away. The thing turned its body slowly around, letting Dean Winchester get a good look at its true form. When it spoke, it was unrecognizable, its voice a husky rumble. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me."

God, did he ever.

Dean swallowed, flashing a feral smile. "Just one. Where the fuck is my brother?"

***

_Christmas Eve 1988_

_It was warm in here. The Impala had been cold. But this, this was a nice change. And there was no way in hell Dean was going to admit that to Pastor Jim._

"_You okay, son?" he asked Dean, smiling. Dean hated it when he called him son. He also craved it because he said it with pride and it sounded so gentle from his lips, but Dean wouldn't admit that either._

_He looked over at Sammy. He was smiling. "Yeah, I'm okay." Half-lie, half-truth. He wanted his Dad. He wanted his Mom. He still wanted her. After all these years. But he had to suck it up because he had Sam and Sam needed him and Dean needed to be needed. It gave him something. It gave him purpose. Made him feel important when Sam looked at him like that. _

"_You did the right thing, Dean. Coming here." _

_He knew it was said to comfort him, but it didn't. It made him feel weak. It made him feel sick and he wanted to cry all over again. All he had to do was show up at Pastor Jim's door and he knew he'd let him in. But Dean had showed up crying and it was humiliating, but he had no where to go and no money left and if Pastor Jim knew that he and Sam had hitched their way there instead of taking a bus like he had told him, well, he'd tell his Dad when Dad showed up. If he showed up. _

_And Dean would rather just lie about it._

_So he sat in the church rectory with Sam while Jim made phone calls and they waited together, on news of their father while they sucked on candy canes and drank chocolate milk. _

"_Dad'll be okay," Dean announced to his brother who hadn't asked, but Dean felt the need to tell him anyway._

"_I know." Sam was confident. Solid. Nothing could touch their Dad. _

_Dean put a small, but impressively defined, arm around his brother's shoulders. "We'll be okay now." Because just a few hours before? It was either freeze to death or get the hell out and Dean had to leave. Had to leave without his Dad returning back to the car. His Dad had looked at him square in the eyes and said it'd be just a couple of hours and that was three days ago._

_Dean's arm tightened on his brother._

_Sam looked up, peppermint breath filled the space between. "Dean?"_

_Dean nodded back to him. "Yeah?"_

"_We're okay. You did good."_

_So not what he wanted to hear right now. It was Christmas Eve and you don't abandon your family on this night of all nights. You stick. You stay. You don't climb up an embankment and throw your thumb out. You don't say yes to every creepy guy and every smoke filled car that stops, giving them lame lies about why you're on the street with your baby brother. When you're a baby yourself. _

_You just don't. _

_Dean's eyes glided away. He sunk back against the pew, taking in the rectory. Jesus was staring down at him from a perch high above the altar. A grand statue, his hands pulled together in prayer, his eyes solemn. _

_Dean tried to hear him. He zeroed in on his face. He listened with his entire body, not just his ears. He studied the figure. He wanted to hear him. He wanted to feel the peace, the magic Pastor Jim talked about. He hated that when he looked up all he saw was judgment and misunderstanding. He wished he could hear something and so he tried to listen. Really, really tried. _

"_Your Dad's okay," Pastor Jim came rushing back into the church. "Well, he's going to be okay. Got kind of beat up. Broke a leg, a few ribs. But I got a couple of guys on their way to him right now. He'll be back here by morning."_

_Ah, a Merry friggin' Christmas. _

_Dean felt Sam's body press against his. And he almost lost it again. _

***

Late Christmas Eve 2008

It twisted and shifted, its shape morphing back into human, drawing the mist close to its core until skin rippled through. Blue pale eyes kept steady with Dean as the long figure formed in front of him, skinny and blond. Perfect skin. Perfect teeth. Perfect smile.

Dean's gun never moved. He tilted his head once, his throat working against his anger as he stared at Sonny. "Where's Sam?"

Sonny's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Okay, now Dean winced. Out of frustration at not being able to plug this thing more than anything. Never a straight answer in their line of work. _Don't make me say it again._ "Sam. If you hurt him, I swear to God…"

"He's not with you?"

He focused in on a target - Sonny's chest. He didn't know if shooting this… thing in the heart with regular rounds would kill it or not, but it would probably hurt like hell. At least he hoped it would. _One more time._ "Where's Sam?"

Sonny looked at him. He held no hands up in self defense. No fists balling at his sides for a possible fight. He just stood there. Concerned. Distressed. Sympathetic. "Just take it easy there."

"Don't tell me what to do," Dean felt his face flush. "You stick. Stick to the question."

"What do you remember?"

Dean ticked his head, his gun seemed to tremble slightly.

"Did she take him?"

He swallowed. "Who? Cher?"

Sonny nodded.

Dean's finger stiffened over the trigger. As long as Sonny didn't make any sudden movements, he could take the shot whenever he chose. "I don't know. We were walking and then…" His eyes flicked up to Sonny's. The blue that was shining back looked paternal. They looked worried. They looked genuine. Dean's voice came close to cracking. "…then he just wasn't there anymore."

"Okay," Sonny moved to his right and Dean followed with his body, gun swinging in front of him. Sonny watched the barrel closely. "Dean," God, he said his name so professionally, like the hunter was on a job interview, "I'm not the bad guy here. I'm good."

"To hell you are."

Sonny flashed the perfect smile. "I think I owe you an explanation."

www

Sam opened his eyes to the dark. He felt his lashes flutter on his cheeks and knew his eyes must be open. They were blinking, but all this black around him was making it so thick to see. His head turned groggily and he realized the back of his head was rubbing against soft, luscious dirt.

_Ah, the fucking garden._ A moan released from his throat and he shoved his body up on his elbows, his palms sinking into the fresh soil below him. The further he sat up, the more he was able to see, the plants around him becoming gray in the shadows, the large bush ahead of him full of a light flower, the tree next to him… "What the…"

There was a tree to his right and it was mammoth. The trunk itself was possibly four times the size of any average tree he had seen. His eyes scaled up, noticing the giant branches jutting out, the leaves that spanned wide and fat against the night sky. Sam sat up more, his back easily resting on the trunk, his lower body sitting on top of fallen fruit from above. He reached down and retrieved a half rotted apple.

"Hungry?"

He dropped the apple and reached for his gun. It wasn't there.

Dark eyes stared down at him. He heard the metal spread apart from her lips before he actually saw her. Smelled the fruity perfume she wore over the scent of the decaying apples. He heard her soft prancing on the dead leaves around them, even though he knew she was barely touching the ground.

"Don't be scared," she spoke softly, but unconvincingly.

Sam's fingers tapped over his waistband, where his knife should be securely placed in the sheath. Nothing.

He thought her heard her biting on her bottom lip, ticking the piercings with her teeth. He definitely heard the giggle. "I may have taken a few things that don't belong to me."

Sam stiffened as the leaves snapped.

"Ever have a dream that you were a superhero?" she asked. Much closer now, but against the gray, it was hard to tell just how close.

Sam didn't answer. His hands were searching the ground for any kind of useful weapons. All he came up with, though, was damned apples.

"I think you'd make a great Boy Wonder or maybe… the Thing." She was being purposefully insulting. He wasn't sure why or what to make of it but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered right now was getting out of here. Finding Dean. Making sure he was okay.

"I don't dream about being a superhero, though," The leaves were moving again and she was closing in on him. "When I dream, I hold the whole world in the palm of my hand." Sam heard her kneel down, knew she was in front of him, could feel her breath as she spoke, "Because without the world, I don't exist."

His eyes opened wider, focusing past the dark, past the gray, and through the light. There. Dark brown irises surrounding by the blackest pupils he'd ever seen. They were so engaging and longing for attention. Her red lips were pouty as they widened into a casual smile. Her face pressed into the pitch as she crouched down near him.

The fingers on his right hand curled tightly and he snuck it out into the open, her jaw in his direct line of vision.

Her left hand easily caught his fist mid-air. She pushed back against the hunter. "Can't believe," she met his eyes, "you'd try to hit a girl."

"What are you?" Sam whispered, barely hearing himself as he spoke the words.

There was a shrug, he noticed and then very conversational, she replied, "Evil."

www

Dean's gun was at his side now, uncocked, his finger not even on the trigger anymore. He was staring up at Sonny, his face scrunched in a frown, trying to decipher exactly what the man – the entity – the concept – was saying to him.

Sonny was staring back. "I know this is hard to grasp."

"So you're Good?"

The blond head nodded.

"And Cher…"

"My polar opposite. She's pure Evil, man."

"Good and Evil? In the flesh?"

Sonny's head bobbled on his shoulders. "In a matter of speaking, yes." He glanced over Dean's disbelieving face. "I mean, I know you think of us as a thought or an emotion or a moral, but, really, we're much more real than any of that."

"Obviously," Dean muttered. He dropped his defense all together and shuffled his feet in the ground for a few seconds. "I don't understand – how, how did you come back?"

"Come back? Dude, we've been living since the beginning of time. We've always been around. But, there are hitches. There are ways to make us more corporeal. Not a human. Not a spirit. But tangible."

"You were summoned to this… body, then?"

"Accidentally. The Storms tried alternative methods to having a baby. And when they took the dirt and stole the rose, they attempted with their little brains to pray for life." Sonny paused a moment and then continued, "Well, they got life all right, just not the seven pounds six ounces they were hoping for."

"They shoulda just had sex." Dean blinked. "Then whatever ritual they did, whatever they mixed together – it created you?"

"What they did took a little bit of me and little bit of my sister and localized us. So, yes." Sonny sighed. "Humans. You put your wants ahead of God's will and you expect science to give you the answer. There was a reason they couldn't have a baby, but they took matters into their own hands and… their ignorance created us."

Dean's brows furrowed over the bridge of his nose. "But, how?"

Sonny's arms spread apart. His face broke into a grin. "Can't you feel the energy? The life?"

Dean looked around the dark. Dead plants. Dead flowers. Dead leaves. "What life?"

"You're in the Garden of Eden. Where it all began." Sonny picked up the rich top soil and let it pass through his fingers. "This is where I began. In the Garden of Good and Evil."

Dean felt the air escape his lungs and return again. "This place exists?"

"Of course it does."

"I didn't…" Demons. Vampires. Angels. What else? "I didn't think it was real."

"It's as real as you and me."

God, he had a headache. Here it was at… he checked his watch… fucking perfect. Here it was at midnight and he was stuck in the Garden of Good and Evil with Good and no Sam. He couldn't shoot Good. And when he found Evil, probably wouldn't be able to shoot it, either. Because really how do you kill a concept? Probably can't even maim it. But he couldn't let them walk around in skin, passing for human while they hurt people. While they let people kill one another. While they… _They_. They were a team. They had done this to this town. To those people. Which brought up a whole new batch of questions. Dean felt his gun in his hand again and, boy, it never did get heavy when it was made to be there, and just where – where the hell was his brother and why was that guy smiling at him like that?

Some things were just too good to be true.

Dean raised his arm again, this time a bit wiser. "I swear to God I'll find a way to kill you…"

"I hope you do."

"Shut-up and take me to my brother."

"I told you…"

Dean pulled the hammer back. "I said shut-up. Start walking."

Sonny sighed. "She probably has him."

"Uh-huh." He waved the gun to the left and Sonny took a few steps. Dean followed close behind.

"Probably has him at the Knowledge Tree. She can't help it. She's just drawn there."

"Go."

Dean pushed Sonny forward with the barrel of his Colt. The man, or the concept of the man, soon led them off the safety of the dirt and Dean was sideswiping branches and leaves again. Each smack in the face leaving scratches and scrapes that burned his eyes.

"Thought this place was suppose to be some kind of a paradise," he mumbled angrily at no one but himself.

But Sonny joyfully answered him anyway. "It's not a paradise." Dean could hear the smile, even though he couldn't see it. "It's a Kingdom."

www

Sam was pressed against the trunk of the tree and, God help him, he couldn't move. His arms were pulled back, his head was held tight and his chest was crushing against the force from the bark, hopeful for air.

She was walking around him, circling the tree. Her voice never stopped. Sometimes she talked, sometimes she sang, but she always taunted. Always tried to get more from Sam than he was willing to give.

"So, that's the story," she said breathlessly as she bent down in front of him again. Her arms hanging loosely in between her legs.

Sam pulled further away from her, taking refuge in the hard comfort behind him. "So this is just a game to you?"

Cher grinned. "What do you think is going to happen when you make Good and Evil concrete?" She turned around and nestled her body next to Sam's, sharing the trunk with him, it felt cool against her back. Sam felt warm against her shoulder.

He shuddered.

"Hey, this was just as much as a surprise to Sonny and I as it was to this stupid little town." She brought up her knees. "Galila, Nebraska," she said with a laugh. "You get plucked out of the atmosphere and you don't even get a hot body to hang out in. Look at me." Petite hands grabbed at her own flat chest. "I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy! You don't get a choice and then you're stuck in a town with twelve churches – did you know there's twelve churches here?" Her neck pivoted to look at the speechless man. "This place is hell for someone of my caliber. I cut my hair. Got some tats. A few piercings. But, this place… In all honesty, I just got bored. And Sonny, he always thinks he's in the right. Such a fucking goody-two-shoes." The dark hair was shaking back and forth. "When I challenged him to a battle of the wits, the idiot actually thought he was going to win."

Sam's eyes slid over to the right. She was staring back. "A battle of the wits?"

"Good versus Evil. Keep up, college boy. My brother thought in a town like Galila, Nebraska that Good could conquer Evil." She pushed on Sam's shoulder and laughed. It was from the gut, head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, full-blown belly laugh.

Sam didn't buy it for a minute. She was nothing but a fake.

Cher sobered up and stilled next to him. Her eyes fixed on his face, still battered from earlier in the day. Lips swollen, jaw bruised, left eye bluish-purple, fresh cuts and scratches adorning his cheeks and brows. Cher licked her lips, her tongue bumping over the metal attached there. She reached her finger out and twirled a strand of Sam's hair around her pinky. Her mouth nuzzled next to his ear. "But you know about Evil winning." She released the hair and gazed at it's flawless curl. "So is it in you or in your brother?"

Sam's head turned slightly towards her. He needed to get out of here.

_Somehow he talked me out of it…_

"What?"

"The heart of darkness."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sonny and I… we know who you are. In our profession, it's kind of imperative to keep abreast of important news. Interesting people."

"Okay…"

"I could smell the two of you the second you walked in the restaurant. You'd think Dean would be so much easier to read, but he's tricky. I had to get inside him to see what he was really made of."

"What? That was _you_ back at the house?"

"Well, a part of me. You, you're easier to read."

"Shut-up."

"Not for Sonny, of course. He has such soft spot for people like you. He thought I was going to have Dean kill you, but even I don't have that kind of power. If Dean would have killed you, that would have been Dean's decision."

Sam grew uncomfortably silent.

"Sonny had to help you, though. Messed everything up before we found out what darkness really lies inside of him."

Sam shut his eyes. Willed her away.

"So you have a pair of brothers. Working with a couple of angels. Teaming up with a demon." She waited as Sam's head turned towards her. She knew that would get his attention. "Which one of you is Good and which one of you is Evil?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "This isn't the _Wizard of Oz_. We're just human. We're not Good _or_ Evil."

"Just human? You underestimate your species. Everyone has a heart of darkness, Sam. It just depends on how much you feed it. _What_ you feed it." She scooted closer to him. "I think maybe you feed yours a little bit better than your brother."

Sam turned away from her again, his throat working to keep his temper in check. "It doesn't matter what you say. You just lie…"

"Maybe. Maybe I do. Hypocrisy, the lie, is the true sister of Evil." She brushed her jeans off with her hands and stood back up in one fluid motion. " You know what Galila means?"

Sam stared at her. She stood in front of him, her short stature looking rather tall. He shook his head as much as he was allowed. "No."

"Redemption. Can you imagine how much fun Sonny and I had with these people? Trying to see what side they would redeem themselves to?" She smiled at that and then thumbed at herself. "Or resign themselves to."

"That's just… mean. That's wrong."

"Good thing I don't have a conscience. A name says a lot about a place, though. About a person." She paused a moment, her head tilted forward, her chin dipping to her chest. She looked at her prisoner with dark eyes and teased, "His name is God."

Sam tried moving his fingers away from the tree trunk. "What?"

"Sam. That's what your name means."

Sam sighed. "It's just a name."

"No. It was given to you before your parents ever named you. Before you were even a thought to them." She canted her head. "Don't you believe in God?"

Sam looked away. He didn't know what he believed in anymore. But damned if he was going to tell her that. "I believe in the Good of this world."

That pleased her beyond all her dreams. A challenge. "Not for long you won't."

And she quietly waltzed her tiny feet towards the hunter, her body oozing a black mist as she made her way to him.

www

Dean kept his gun pressed into Sonny's back and he seemed to respond to it. He never looked back and his feet never stopped moving. Neither did his mouth, but he was full of information that the older man was soaking in.

Neither one had asked to be brought into this life, it was true. They had both been content wrecking havoc with mankind as they had for centuries now. They didn't know why they had arrived in Galila or in human form. For all Sonny knew, they could have come back as dogs, which wouldn't have been as much fun, but it still wasn't their choosing. Probably had something to do with the hairs and the blue and pink ribbons from the Storm's summoning ritual. Instead of babies, they brought back concepts of man in the form of twins.

And they had gotten bored. Both of them. Cher from a lack of fun. Sonny from a lack of work. Galila was a God-fearing town. A righteous town. Love thy neighbor. So when Cher proposed a little game with the founding couple, Sonny reluctantly agreed. He thought with a town this devoted, Good would prevail.

When he lost, however, he took it hard and had challenged her to a rematch. Two out of three. See where it goes. Before they knew it, the town of Galila had a slew of good fortunes, people looking deep into their hearts and giving more than ever before. They also had a downfall of bad luck. People killing one another. Near death experiences. Some good, some bad. Some just plain awful.

"It just got out of hand," Sonny tried to explain. "I thought we were still in control. Then you guys showed up and started your investigation. Even that we argued about. She wanted you to stay, I wanted you to go." His pale blue eyes glanced behind him. "And then after we told you the stories of the town… and after we went with you to the Storm's house, I realized how bad it had actually gotten. There was no control."

Dean didn't say anything to him – it – whatever it was. Just let it talk. He listened, though. Interesting to know that Good had a blind spot.

"My sister is just so conceited. She gets so full of herself and then before I even know it, some poor soul is consumed with Evil." He grimaced over his shoulder. "She's just so good at being so bad." He slowed up his walk.

Dean slowed behind him. There it was, towering over the garden - The Knowledge Tree. It was majestic against all the plants and shrubs. If the garden had looked big before, the tree actually dwarfed it in comparison.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Sonny was commenting, but Dean didn't hear him. He was too busy noticing Cher's transforming body and the black mist that was leaking from her pores. He was too busy noticing his brother pinned against the trunk of the mighty tree, his eyes full of fear as the girl morphed into the Evil that she was made of. He was too busy racing by Sonny, the Colt held away from his body, pointed at the threat that stood between himself and his brother.

With hot anger and a desperate twist and pull from deep down, Dean found that he, too, didn't mind saying yes to the darkness inside. With no worries of regret, he pulled the trigger without hesitation.

**A/N:** Hope that clears up so many of your questions and speculations about Sonny and Cher. To more chapters to see what happens to our entities and our favorite boys. Thanks again for reading.


	5. Crumpled and Torn

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**A/N:** Forgot. This fic has a bit more swearing than I normally do. If you're under the age of 16, please note swearing is not cool. It only makes you look uneducated. If you're older than 16, swearing should be used in moderation. Like when you're really mad. Now if you're kick-ass demon hunter, I suppose you could swear whenever you wanted to.

Thanks to the help from MAZ101 this chapter survived… even with a couple of bad words.

**Chapter Five: Crumpled and Torn**

It may have been a mistake. Pulling the trigger was probably more an emotional reaction than a logical response. After all, who would shoot Evil in the back and expect to win? Kind of like shooting the devil… what if you missed?

Cher's hand slapped the back of her head, just as fast as the bullet had whizzed out of the chamber. The hole it left there was gaping, oozing with thick dark crimson. An ugly wound. She palmed her hand out seeing the fresh blood on her fingers.

"You shot me?" Her head whipped around, eyeing the older Winchester.

Dean froze, gun still in hand, still raised away from his body. He pointed at her chest this time. "I'll shoot you again."

She smirked, her entire body turning away from Sam and back to Dean.

_All in the plan…_

"Go ahead. Shoot me."

Dean pulled the trigger again, smacking into Cher's small body. Her shoulder cracked back from the force of the bullet, but she kept her stance. Her right hand cupped the blood drizzling down from her chest and smeared it back against her body. "Right in the heart." She said through the metal in her smile.

Dean's mouth ticked up, chin dipping down. "Never really thought it would be that easy."

"You think you can kill me?" She looked at him astonished. "Oh, honey, there's not enough good in any man to take me out."

Dean hit her again. Dead center, in the sternum. Her body effortlessly absorbed the bullet.

"Still sore at me from earlier? Back at the house?" A mist started to slowly evaporate from her body.

"Cher, don't," Sonny pleaded, letting her hear the want in his voice.

"Shut-up." She didn't take her dark eyes off the hunter. "I gave you every opportunity to open up to me. And now? Now is when you show me what you can do?"

Dean pulled the hammer back again, knowing it wouldn't kill. It wouldn't deter.

The dark mist thickened, swarming up the girl's body. "Don't worry. You only need a little bit of me to feel my power…"

"Cher…"

"He has to give your kind so much more of himself. It's pathetic."

"I'm not playing," Sonny warned her. "You have to stop this."

Dark eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder. Cher smiled at her brother, a hint of wicked playfulness on her tongue. "Catch me if you can."

A black fog secreted from Cher's mouth and eyes. Her hand extended in front of her and she caught the cloud in her palm, balancing it there delicately. A kiss and a blow was all it took to send the dark mist across the small divide and before he could drop his hand, it circled Dean's head and he was forcefully inhaling again, swallowing gulps of smog.

_I'm suffocating…_

Dean's eyes popped open, the green thinning, his pupils enlarging. He was on fire, his blood too hot for his veins, his skin feeling the smoldering heat from the inside out.

Sam was pushing himself to his feet, his back using the leverage from the tree trunk to guide him up. His arms crossed around his middle as he stood, watching his brother being overcome in the dark cloud. His eyes flicked to the weapons Cher had confiscated from him, sitting in a heap near a patch of mint.

"Sister," Sonny was speaking, his voice low, "let him go."

She stood to the side, watching with a childlike excitement as the man, who had been her welcomed guest, set his eyes on his own brother. She looked over to the blond figure. "Play with me. It's no fun if you don't play."

Dean felt his feet start to move in a wonky swagger. His brain still holding on to reality. To Sam. He knew what was coming, he knew the betrayal. He knew he wouldn't be able to fight it. His hand reached in between his waistband and his skin, feeling the hilt of his knife. Pulling it out felt so wrong and yet so right and he couldn't help but look away as his eyes caught in the reflection of the blade.

Sam hadn't moved. Still pressed up against the tree. He swallowed as his brother made his way sluggishly to him. He could see Dean's eyes were bloodshot. Could see they were untamed, an animalistic gleam shining in the night. Sam had to talk his way through this. Through all the lies that she made Dean believe were true and somehow find his brother.

That would save them both. Good over Evil. But he knew, even in the best circumstances, it was a long shot.

So Sam started talking as his brother closed in on him, before he had his hands where he could reach him. Before Sam had his mouth full of blood. He started talking.

"Dean, you don't want to do this. You and I… we're on the same side. Have been our whole lives, right?" Sam waited under the tree, his brother still creeping near him. "Dean, come on, man. You gotta snap out of this." Dean's hand grabbed a hold of Sam's shirt. "You gotta help me." The knife came up and rested under Sam's chin, Dean's face inches away from his brother's. Eyes locked on one another. Hearts beating off synch, no longer as one. Hadn't been since his brother's return from hell.

Cher listened to the begging of the human. "Why won't you play with me?"

Sonny shook his head at her. "Enough already. We… we had our fun. Just let him go."

"Play with me." She was insistent. She was aggravating. She was being evil.

"I can't. Not anymore. You won some, I won some, just stop…"

"You didn't win anything," she announced with such arrogance. "You think you won with that old farmer and his neighbor? Baby, I let you win. Or those two teenage brats? You think that was you? I wasn't even trying." She grinned, picking up Sam's knife from the ground at her feet. "I had to scale back just to keep you in the game."

Sonny was glaring at her. "Stop this or I'll make you stop."

"That's what I want you to do, brother." She turned back to the tree. Carefully, she approached the two men, stuck in limbo. She clutched Sam's hand in her own and wrapped his fingers around the slick handle of the blade. She retreated backwards, towards her counterpart and started the amusement again.

"Play with me," she cooed.

Dean felt a sizzle from inside. It reminded him of something he had buried deep down. A pain from another world, the hot and cold sting that only demons that want revenge can inflict. It made his mouth water and his heart hammered in his chest. His fingers grabbed around strands of Sam's brown hair and he tugged, yanking his brother's head back, his neck elongating in the shadows of the tree. The tip of the knife traced his brother's veins and Dean spun the hilt in his hand, his eyes catching a small amount of red bubble to the surface.

"Dean," was all Sam could get out as his neck snapped back. He felt his tendons stretch, allowing the force and then a prick in the side of his skin. He could feel the tip of the blade dancing on his pulse point and the warmth of his own blood spilling.

The knife pressed deeper and Dean's own eyes beamed in response. Sam didn't fucking know. Didn't know what he gave up for his stupid-ass demonic brother. Didn't know the unimaginable torture he endured. Didn't know how lost he felt inside. How wrong he felt. How he had already seen and lived and become real evil. That it can possess your heart. That it can warm it.

He wanted to slice his brother's goddamn throat. Wanted Sam to feel the coldness at his hands and wanted him to know what one fucking day was like for him. Being filleted like a fish by those who were once human. Skinned like an animal by those who had forgotten. Mocked and ridiculed by those who he had once destroyed. He wanted Sam to know what it was like giving your life up for the person he loved more than anyone just to be shit on.

While your brother lived.

Funny how things can be put into perspective for you. How the fragility of the line between love and hate can become so corrupt. God, it was going to feel so good to kill Sam.

Only he wasn't. Sam was still talking and he was saying the same thing over and over. "Dean… help me."

There was a flash of hot as Dean turned the blade to it's side, the tip still clinging to the inside of Sam's skin. When the flash released it's hold, however, Dean felt his blood cool. He blinked and felt his toes curls in his shoes, felt his heart slowing in his chest. His lungs expanding and releasing air easier again.

He heard a cough from behind him, but he didn't dare look back. Right now there was a knife stuck in his brother's neck and he had a hold of the butt. Dean's left hand released Sam's hair and he slowly withdrew his hand.

Sam let out a relieved sigh as his head bobbed back up. Two tears silently ran down his cheeks. Sam's right hand opened and the knife he'd had gripped so tightly fell like lead to the ground.

Dean frowned. There was Sam and he had tears and blood running down his face and Dean still had his own blade in his hands. There was dark red running down the edge of the silver and Sam… was crying. Sam hadn't cried since he'd returned home. Not when they had finally seen one another again. Not when he put his arms around his sibling. Not when he had ripped him one when he found out how Sam had spent his summer. Came close, maybe, but hadn't cried.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean looked at the knife with Sam's tainted blood on it. "You didn't," his eyes shifted back to his brother, "you didn't even try to fight me."

There was another cough from behind them and both brothers turned back to the activity in the garden.

Cher was standing, her small form gasping for air, her left hand out in front of her. She choked in a breath, wheezed it passed her vocal chords and stopped. Her red lips moved in a distorted action, away from one another, the metal spreading far apart as her mouth circled in a large "O" shape. Both hands came up to her lips and she heaved once, her throat working as she choked. Her body shivered as she spit into her palms one large, shiny red apple. Her dark eyes widened and she looked over to Sonny.

"Oh, brother, what have you done?" Her body shook and she went back into another convulsion, heaving, choking and gasping until another red, shiny apple presented itself through her parted lips.

Sonny was watching her struggle, watching her choke on her own saliva and spit. He grimaced at her pain as he took another bite from the apple he'd picked from the limbs hanging above him.

"You self-righteous bastard," she spat out in between apples. "You kill me, you kill yourself."

Sonny only nodded. Some things were worth the sacrifice. Especially for the Greater Good.

Cher heaved another apple out, this time just letting it fall to the ground. She sank with it to her knees. "Couldn't…" she wheezed, "beat me." Another apple. "Had to…" gasps and pants, "destroy me."

"What a world," Sonny replied, crunching another crisp bite.

"Smart…" her voice broke as she choked hard. She heaved, her hand wrapping around her stomach. The apple started to come up, her throat working to get it through, but she was tired and her muscles were withering and it got stuck. She locked her eyes with Sonny.

"Ass." He approached her gently, a tender look gracing his flawless face.

Cher's fingers frantically dug into the rich soil, silt gathering under her nails, her weakening form desperate to find a reprieve. All she found, though were the weapons she had stolen from Sam Winchester. And those wouldn't do her any good.

She seized his boot knife into her fist and stared out at her approaching brother.

Sonny didn't miss it. He halted in the garden, feeling the balance shift back to his sister.

She spit out the red apple, deep scarlet followed from her lips. Her stomach muscles clenched again, twisting her from the inside. She started heaving.

"You hold the power to let it go," Sonny encouraged her.

Her body doubled forward. "I hold…" she pushed herself up on shaky arms, "… power… of…" she wiped the blood from her mouth, "…the world."

The knife flew from her hands, easily flip-flopping the distance, the blade sinking to the hilt. Deep into the chest, into the flesh, into the heart of darkness.

She smiled quietly and her eyes glimmered in the night, taking with them everything she possessed. Her body collapsed in a small heap on the ground, the dark mist emitting from her skin.

***

_Early Christmas Morning 2005_

_He had tried so hard. They ate a big breakfast, took a walk, window-shopped, watched classic Christmas shows on the TV, had a nice sit-down meal at a real restaurant. He tried so hard. Still couldn't get his brother to even come close to breaking a smile, though. _

_Spiked eggnog in the cooler and after the fourth or fifth Holiday special, Dean had crashed on his bed. It had been a wonderful Christmas Eve and Sam was truly thankful as he sat outside alone on the concrete steps. _

_They were in Texas. The sun had been out that day, the night was breezy and warm, great weather. Great state, great Southern hospitality. But still no sign of Dad. And no Jess. Nothing worth celebrating or smiling about._

"_Here."_

_Sam looked up to his left and saw an opened green bottle being handed to him. He took it without argument. _

_Dean nudged his brother's hip with his socked toe. "Scootch." Sam rocked to the right of the stair, making room for the older Winchester. Dean sat down and started slow sipping on his beer._

_There were Christmas lights shining out the manager's window of the motel. Blinking miserably at them in the changing light. Christmas carols playing loud enough they could catch some of the words. Eartha Kitt's sultry voice was singing _Santa Baby_._

"_You have a good day?" Dean asked. Making small talk, skirting issues._

_Sam nodded._

"_Good." Another long pull on the neck of the bottle. "Nice night, huh?"_

_Sam's eyes glided over for a quick second and he sighed, looking down at his beer._

_It was like talking to a wall. Had been all day long. Probably get better feedback if he did anyway. "Rather, uh, just be alone?" Part of him was hoping Sam would say "yes" because than at least he would say something. _

_But he didn't. He just sat there. In fucking silence. Looking at everything but Dean. _

"_Okay…" Dean inched away, "I'll take that as a yes." He waited another second, giving Sam one more chance. _

_Never came, though._

_Dean reached his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Well, here." He handed his brother a small paper bag, crumpled and torn in places. "It's like four in the morning. Early enough for presents." _

_Sam stared at the sad looking bag for another moment before resigning and taking it from Dean's hand. It was heavier than he thought it would be. He unrolled the bag a few times and shook the lone content out of the opening. _

_A boot knife. Nice blade. Sleek, black handle. Sam gripped it. His fingers instantly felt like home wrapped around it. _

"_I know you've been outta the game for a while and I noticed that…" Dean hesitated, "I noticed you didn't have yours. Thought maybe you lost it along the way."_

_Sam stared at his present. Traced it with his fingertips. "Sock drawer."_

_Dean took a swig. "What?"_

_Sam cleared his throat. "Second drawer of the dresser. It was under my socks." He paused. "Back at the apartment."_

"_She didn't ever find it?"_

_Sam picked his bottle back up and took a long drink. This knife was nicer than his old one. He had let his old one get dull and it had a discolored white handle. Never had really liked that one. This one was nice._

"_It's been six, seven weeks, Sam."_

Fifty-two days.

"_You know, you gotta talk about it sometime. Talk about _her_ sometime." He waited._

_Sam sighed, his breath stale from being up too long. Talk about what? That he was to blame? That he did nothing while she was murdered? Nothing. Could he tell that to his brother? He knew what his brother would say and, in all honesty? That answer was a load of crap. A goddamn lie. A lie to make Sam feel better about himself. So Sam just chose to not say anything. Better to have the silence than the lies in between._

"_You know I'm here, right? If you need to talk."_

_Sam's head turned in his direction. Didn't make eye contact with his brother, but he acknowledged him. "You offering?"_

"_You asking?" Dean held his breath. Sam wouldn't ask. He always talked about talking. Wanted the words to connect them. But when it came down to it, Sam could never tell Dean what he was truly feeling. He could never ask for what he needed. _

_Sam looked away._

"_I see that," Dean whispered._

"_What?" Sam whispered back._

"_Your pain." _

_Sam's lip trembled. Damn Christmas lights kept blinking. Stupid song was still playing. He felt so fucking trapped. He wanted to take his Christmas present that felt like home and stab himself in the gut with it. The breeze blew his hair out of his eyes and he felt his eyes sting._

"_I'm not going anywhere." _

_Shut-up. Shut-up. Shut-up. Sam looked away because his eyes were burning. They were burning and Sam had to blink hard, blink quickly. Look away. Watch the lights. Watch the stars. Just look away. Because there was no Jess. There was no normal. There never was going to be._

_Dean closed the gap between the two of them, his right leg pressing against his brother's left, his right arm rubbing against Sam's. Two halves of a whole. _

"_It's okay, you know. You loved her."_

_He took a drink of his beer and waited as Sam fought himself. He watched the lights in the distance as Sam won, pushing his demons and his rage back into their respective hiding places. Dean felt everything go cold as the silence returned._

_Eartha was finishing up, Bing Crosby and David Bowie followed…_

"_It's not always going to be messed up," Dean shook his head. He felt his brother move next to him, his weight shift away from the small contact, closer to the handrail. "Next year will be better," he promised and then felt like hell when Sam tried to smile back._

***

Early Christmas Day 2008

"No," Sonny breathed. "No, no, no, no, no…" He raced to the brothers, his eyes watching as Dean collapsed to the ground, Sam's arms catching his shoulders as they fell together. He reached them quickly, dropping to his knees, his hands on the older man.

Sam was laying his brother down on the earth, scrambling from underneath him. "Dean?"

Sonny shook his head. "How could she…" he felt his respirations slow, "She won?" He seemed legitimately surprised.

Sam pushed by him, his hands over his brother's body. Fingers on his jugular. The staccato rhythm was fast. Palm flat on his chest – the right side – the rise and fall was rapid. Then there was the handle of the knife sticking out of the left side. It looked deadly sunk into his brother like that.

Damn Christmas present. He wouldn't have ever accepted it had he known… he should have taken the shot when he had the chance on those stairs. Taken it and slammed it into his gut.

"She wasn't suppose to win." Sonny fell back feeble and weedy, away from the hunters. White smoke poured from his body.

Sam glanced over to him. "Sonny?"

"Do Good," he whispered into the cool air and then his eyes went wide. "W-watch… out for… the…" The white mist rolled off his lanky body and dissipated back into the garden.

Sonny was gone.

Both entities – concepts – thoughts – morals – released back into the enduring heart of the earth. It would take them both, the light and the dark and wait to see what stories they would tell down the road.

Sam looked away, started moving again. Quick assessment over. His fingers tapped at cold cheeks. "Dean?"

No response.

Sam sat on his haunches. He reached down and shook at the limp body. "Dean?" More forceful this time, commanding a response, but still not getting one.

He closed his eyes. It hadn't pierced the heart. Couldn't have. His brother's heart was beating, not skipping, not regurgitating. It was beating. Sam knew that knife. He cleaned it, sharpened it, cared for it. The blade wasn't that long. Maybe it hadn't reached the lungs. Maybe it had hit a rib instead.

Sam swallowed back the nausea that swept his body. Hovering over Dean's body like this only brought back memories he had long tried to block out. "Dean?" He pleaded this time, quiet and shaken. "Come on. It's Christmas, man, you gotta wake up."

Eyes closed tight, lips pale against fair freckles. Stupid, stupid knife glistening under the moonlight.

Sam sucked in a breath. "Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes." He checked his brother's breathing again, placing his ear to his chest. Shallow, but not wet. "Come on."

Nothing.

Sam looked up. Stars were getting lighter, fading into the gray. The cold that sunk into him now soaked into his bones. He suddenly felt so alone. _"So close no matter how far, couldn't be much more from the heart,"_ Sam looked back down, watching Dean's face as Metallica flowed from his lips, _"Forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters."_

A flutter of Dean's lashes against the graying of his skin and Sam was on his feet. "Okay," he started talking out loud. Really, it didn't help him think, it helped calm his nerves. "If this is the Knowledge Tree and those apples are poisonous," Sam walked into the garden, "then it should be surrounded by good."

There was so much Sam didn't recognize. Just an assembly of plants and flowers. A maple tree. That he recognized. A silver fir all alone. He walked up to the spiky needles, the small leaves. Dad had said the whole tree was good for treating all sorts of ailments. He started his mental check list, thinking back to the hunts with creatures in the forests. Dad and Dean and what they had told him. Which plants he could eat, what flowers would heal if they were ever in a bind.

Guess today was the day.

Sam reached up to the silver fir and gathered some buds growing in closed flowers. He ripped off some of the bark, took a few leaves and then turned around. Thyme. A huge batch of it. He reached down and snapped off the sprigs. And was that…? _No way._ Sam grabbed as much of the hemp he could carry in his shirt. He went back towards his brother, stopping to grab some aloe and then back to the maple tree, yanking at some of the larger leaves he could reach.

Dean was stirring, his head rubbing against the dirt, a moan escaping his lips.

Sam dumped the pile of nature next to his brother and knelt down, using his voice to bring Dean back to the present. "Hey," he soothed, touching his brother's right shoulder.

Dean slowly opened his eyes, slits of hazel peering out into to the night. His voice came out thick and puzzled, "S-Sam?"

A relieved sigh was returned to him. Sam crept closer to his brother's side. "Yeah, man." _Worry about the important things first._ "You breathing okay?"

Dean blinked a few times, his eyes growing wider. He looked above him. The stars twinkled back. How did he get on his back? Why was Sam… He remembered the knife. Sam. Sam wouldn't fight him. "You hit me?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What? No."

There was a long pause and Dean remembered his brother's face. Remembered the tears. Why wouldn't Sam fight? It almost made him angry just thinking about it.

"You breathing okay?"

_What?_ Dean felt his chest expand. "Think so."

Sam nodded. "Good."

That brought Dean's attention back to reality. "Where's Sonny?"

A one shouldered shrug. "He's gone. I don't know exactly."

Back into the souls of those who believe.

"Cher?"

"She's gone, too."

Dean watched him. Sam seemed nervous. Not scared or worried, just nervous. Dean seemed to become more aware of things now. Like the fact that there was water slicking his forehead. His hand reached up and wiped at a fine sheen of perspiration starting to sweat off his brow. "I'm sweating."

"Dean, she stabbed you."

"What?"

Sam pointed at his brother's chest. "You were stabbed."

Dean lifted his head and, with astonishment, really looked at the knife poking out of his body. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," Sam cleared his throat. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna have to pull that out."

"Aw, fuck."

"Yeah. It just hit a rib."

"Wait a minute…" Dean's hands came up, slapping at the air.

"Dude, I haven't even touched you yet."

"Jus' give me a second."

Sam waited. He held his hands close to himself, staring at them. _So, tell me. If it's so terrific, then why'd you lie about it to me?_ He practiced the pull motion in his mind. _Why did an angel tell me to stop you?_ He envisioned the knife coming out. _If I don't stop you, he will._ He swallowed hard. _See what that means, Sam?_ He silently wished his hands were as disposable as the weapons they carried. _That means that God doesn't want you doing this._ He could do this. _So you just gonna stand there and tell me everything is all good?_ Yeah, he could do this.

"Okay."

He slid his eyes back to his brother. "Okay?" That was quick. Sam was rethinking his part in this, maybe he needed a few seconds, too. "Maybe… do you want to…" Sam gestured to the hilt.

There was a small shake of the head. "You do it." He ghosted a quick smile. "You'll do better than me."

Sam looked back at the knife – his knife – sticking out of Dean's chest and felt his own breath hitch. _If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you._

Dean held his brother's unsure gaze with all the trust in the world. "Okay."

Sam squeezed the greens of the hemp, getting as much fiber and oil from the small leaves as he could. "Open up."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Looked oddly familiar. "Is that, is that pot?"

"It's hemp."

"You mean pot."

"It's for the pain."

Dean waggled an eyebrow. "Do I get to smoke it?"

"It'll help," Sam reassured him. "Open."

Dean opened his mouth as Sam dripped the gritty oil on his tongue. He couldn't help but scrunch up his face at the bitter taste.

Sam bled as much as he could out of the small batch. He arranged the other natural materials near him and reached across this brother's body. He looked down and met Dean's eyes. "Ready?"

A quick nod. Dean licked his lips. "On three."

"One." Dean took a breath in. "Two." He let another out. Sam pulled on the hilt. The knife dislodged from it's entry point with a dull slurping sound, sending Dean's body up, curling around itself. Sounds and explicit words grumbled incoherently from his mouth.

Sam pushed him back down, reaching for the aloe and thyme. "Lay still."

Dean tried as best as he could. His hands fisted in the dirt, grabbing clumps of soil in his fists. He felt the warmth spread through his shirt. "I said three," he growled.

"I know," Sam answered calm and level. He rubbed on the juice and oils from both herbs, mixing them over the open hole. Sam curved over his brother and assessed the wound. "I think it only hit a rib."

Dean glowered at him. "You said that before…"

"Well, I was hoping."

"Hoping?"

"I don't know, Dean! It's not like we can have a stat MRI or anything!" Sam shouted. He took a deep breath. It was over, the knife was out. Keep going, keep the focus. "I thought it was… probably a rib."

"Probably?" Dean raised a dirty fist and smashed it into Sam's arm. "And I said on three!"

Sam used the sap from the tree bark as an antibiotic, some pollen off a reedmace as an anticoagulant, the fragrance from the mint as a relaxant on a strained respiratory system. The large maple leaves were helpful in covering the wound. The sticky underside did well searing to his brother's skin.

Not too bad for woodsman medics. Sam sat back and admired his handy work. John Winchester would have been proud.

"I feel like a Christmas tree." Dean snapped, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position. He hissed through his teeth, doing his best to ignore the pull and pain.

_Mind over matter._

Sam sat off to his right, eyes following, but no hands. Sam had somehow figured out a way to put the garden to good use and fix his brother. On the outside. Patched up his new skin, gave him one of his first long-lasting new scars.

"You okay?"

Dean's voice surprised Sam. His brother had just been stabbed and he was asking if he was okay. Sam nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"You just look…you didn't break your hand again, did you?"

"What?" Sam looked down. "No. Why?"

"Because you keep looking at them like they hurt. And you got a little…" Dean pointed at his own eyes, his voice trailing.

Sam blinked back. Maybe there was some moisture there. Maybe he was biting on his bottom lip. Maybe his hands were shaking.

"You aren't going to start bawling, are you?"

Sam looked away with a huff, a cold cloud blowing in response. "No."

"That's good." He waited, watched his brother, staring at his hands again. "Because I'm okay." And when Sam looked back up to meet his eyes, Dean nodded. "What now?"

Sam shrugged. "Could camp out here tonight."

Dean looked around, smirking back to his brother. "Like hell."

"Then I guess we're gonna need to find the trail." His job was done.

Dean could handle it now. Could pull himself up. Could dust himself off and guide them through the garden again. Even with blood still trickling from his chest.

"Well, help me up," Dean reached his hand up to his brother. "If we stay here long enough, next thing you know Santa Claus will show up and," Sam reached down and tugged his brother up, "he could so kick your ass."

"You're welcome," Sam clipped.

Dean's voice cleared. "Thank-you."

It was unnecessary, but appreciative. Even that made him feel bad, though. "I think Sonny was trying to warn us, by the way."

Dean took in a few practice breaths. "About what?"

Sam stared blankly out into the bushes and trees. "I don't know. Maybe about that thing that we've been hearing."

They weren't out of the woods yet. "He didn't say what it was?"

"He didn't have time. He sorta just…" Sam's hand waved into the air. "Just disappeared."

Dean remembered the apples. Sonny chomping on the poison that consumed his sister. Without Good there can be no Evil and he was willing to sacrifice himself to destroy her. Of course, they were just manifestations. They were never real. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could probably feel his presence. Probably wouldn't have to try so hard to feel hers, though.

Dean turned back to his brother. Sam was still staring off, over Dean's shoulder. Still lost out in the garden. Dean sighed and clapped a hand on Sam's bicep. He looked him hard in the eyes. "I'm okay." The kid never could let things go, even when things worked out in the end.

Dean turned from the tree and gathered the weapons that belonged to them. He wiped down his own blade, knowing Sam's blood was clinging to it and placed it back in it's sheath. He glanced at his brother and felt a rush of words that would never be answered anyway and then fished out the compass Sonny had given to him.

North.

He turned back to Sam, who was resting against the trunk. "Comin'?"

Sam nodded, pushing away from the tree.

Dean turned with his brother in tow, watching the compass as the arrow pointed to South. Walking out holding the knowledge they knew now was almost harder than running in blind.

Sometimes it was just easier living in the dark about certain things.

Sam followed Dean out this time, letting him take the lead without dispute. He turned his head for a moment as they tramped back into the thick of the garden. Sounded like a slither behind him, a whisper in his ear, but then all was quiet.

He let his breath out and picked up the pace, catching up with his brother.

But through the crinkling and snapping of the leaves below, he still thought he heard it. It hissed and splintered in the air: _"Choose."_

**Playlist: **_Nothing Else Matters _performed by Metallica, sung by Sam Winchester


	6. Saints and the Sinners

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One

**A/N:** Here is the last chapter of my weak attempt at writing a Christmas fic. Not sure if it panned out or not, you can be the judge. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Again, my Christmas gift this year was finding this fandom. It has been a wonderful experience and I am so happy to be here. And, MAZ, I look forward to the next one. Even though you encouraged me to fire you.

**Chapter Six: Saints and the Sinners**

Dean remembered that little garden back in Illinois. Sam had liked the rhubarb; Dean had liked the tiny watermelons he had attempted to grow. Never did amount into anything, really. They turned out pink, too small to ripen to where they tasted like a watermelon. Or even tasted good, for that matter. Sam tried a few bites and made faces, deciding to stick to the rhubarb.

But the rhubarb wasn't hard to grow; they were hardy as weeds and grew wild.

They were still headed south, the compass' arrow fixed as Dean guided their way. His upper torso smarted and stung, but he pretended not to notice. He ignored the warmth oozing down his chest, although he calculated it had probably been going on for thirty minutes now. As far as he was concerned, he could handle a little blood trickling down his body as long as they could reach the damn trail, which they hadn't come across yet. And by Dean's watch, they'd probably been walking close to two hours.

"Are we…"

"Don't say it," Dean clipped. "We're headed south."

There was a curt sigh behind him and Dean ignored it; watched the compass instead. It was actually frustrating the hell out of him as well, but he didn't want to stop. He had a focus, a mission and that was getting the hell out of this Kingdom of all Kingdoms. He'd rather concentrate on that than on the dried blood on his brother's face anyway. Rather work on what he could do now to get them both to safety than to dwell on what he had done. What he couldn't control.

"Just seems we've been walking this way a long time, that's all."

Sometimes Sam could still be a pain in the ass little brother. Dean stopped and turned abruptly. Sam almost smacked into him. "What're you saying, Sam? You want to lead?"

Sam's eyes narrowed at his brother. "I'm just saying…"

"Didn't you think we walked a long ways in when we got here? Or maybe you don't remember that since you were knocked out!" Dean pointed at his own head. He steadied himself in front of the taller man.

Sam only stared back. Concerned pinched brows looking to him. Dry blood everywhere.

Dean looked away first. "What's with you?" his voice came out too muted, too tired.

"What? Me? You're the one who got stabbed."

Dean felt his blood quicken in his veins, felt his cheek twitch. Even without a powerful force to guide him, his anger was quick. He rotated his shoulders. Gave himself a minute to put his thoughts into words and not just explode. "Back there when I was… I had a knife to your neck, Sam. You didn't even fight me."

_I'm just trying to take this curse and make something good out of it._

But his brother only stared back. Blinked a couple of times, took in air and let it out.

It only irritated Dean more. It was worse than talking to a wall. It was like talking to a goddamn teenager. "Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean's arms slapped his sides. "What's with you? You wanna talk… you don't wanna talk. You want to hunt… you don't want to hunt." Dean pushed at the younger man. "I had a knife to your jugular! I cut through your skin!" Dean swallowed, his face red from the heat of his words, shaking from the silence that answered him.

"Maybe I deserved it."

Dean took a step back. His eyebrows raised. "Deserved it?"

Sam shrugged. He took a step around his brother and started walking through the thicket of branches, looking for the trail.

Dean reached out and grabbed his jacket, tugging him to a stop. "No. No. Tell me what you mean."

Sam jerked free and turned again.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his arm and spun his brother around. "Stop it!"

Sam forcefully wiggled away from his brother's hold and pushed him back. "Stop treating me like a four-year-old!"

"Stop acting like one!" Dean breathed into the cool night, his breath releasing into small light clouds. Reminded him of Sonny. He looked away for a moment and nodded his head. "Whatever this is that you're beating yourself up for, Sam, I just want you to know…"

"Don't, Dean."

"That you don't deserve that. You don't deserve death."

"I didn't say I deserved death."

Dean's eyes brushed back. "Then what? You just… deserve me to kick the shit out of you?"

A shrug. Quiet.

This Sam was always so quiet.

"Yeah, okay," Dean pulled back. "I get to what? Go a round with you? You're just gonna let me unleash, right? I get to bring you down and knock some goddamn sense into you and then what? We're all good?" He waited. No response. Of course. "Or is this like a lifetime thing? I get to just take a shot whenever I feel like it because you deserve it?"

Sam's turn to look away.

Dean's arms spread from his body. He felt his shirt sticky and wet, trying to cling to his muscles. "You gotta help me out here, dude."

Sam glared back. Angry now, his finger pointing into the air. "You don't get it!"

"No, I don't!" Dean yelled and watched as Sam took a step back. Stepped back away from his brother. He took a deep breath. There was nothing to knock over, nothing to hit. Except Sam and he probably would have taken the shot if that wasn't what his brother was wanting him to do.

_I've got demon blood in me, Dean! And I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! _

Apparently four months of being alone was hard to get out of your system, too. "Explain it to me."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, opened his mouth to tell his brother everything that he had been scared to. Tell him more than he had a few weeks ago. Getting the right words, though, admitting the actual fear… well, he'd rather hunt monsters in the dark.

Dean watched Sam struggling with himself. There was more to the confession than met the eye. A romp in the sack with a demon and trying to trade places in hell for his brother's freedom may have been what Sam did. Broadening his horizons and opening his mind to the supernatural may have been the game Sam played. But what happened to Sam, what changed Sam, he was still keeping that locked tight.

"I can't make you tell me," Dean rubbed his forehead. "But, Sam, this is killing you and I…"

There was rustle off to the left and Dean stopped. He looked up to his brother, Sam's face reflecting that he had heard it, too. It hadn't been his imagination.

"What do you think Sonny was trying to warn us about?" Sam asked, his eyes sliding over to the undisturbed leaves.

"I'm gonna find out." Dean walked over to the leaves and started kicking at them with his boots. He'd hit whatever it was eventually.

"I think it's over here now," Sam was saying, his brother heading over to where he had last heard the commotion.

The air suddenly shifted directions, picking up a cool breeze that hissed in the night. _"Choose."_

Sam stilled. He looked over to his brother. Dean was glaring back. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

Dean followed around, keeping low to the ground. He could feel his wound grow cold and then hot again, making him shudder. If this was a snake, he swore he would just reach out with his hands and strangle the damn thing without a second thought.

"_Choose."_

Dean spun on his heels. "Are you hearing that?"

Sam was circling the area, chasing after the sound. He didn't look up. It was coming from below. "Yeah." He put his hands on his hips. "Choose what?" he asked into the graying night.

"_The heart."_ The slithering started again. It seemed to come from all directions.

Sam's eyes narrowed, he crouched back down, searching. Never could see anything rumpled or disturbed, though. It was odd and wrong. There had to be something there. Sounds just don't occur out of nothing. He walked into more of the foliage, chasing an invisible animal when his boots suddenly hit something familiar.

"Holy shit," he called over his shoulder.

Dean halted, looking in the direction his brother had crawled into. The edges blurred and smeared together. He blinked twice and realized his forehead was wet. Just great. Exactly what he didn't need. Sweat. He wiped at it quickly and hollered steady and level, "What is it?"

"I found the trail!"

Dean stood up, looking through the foggy shadows of the Christmas night, past the leaves that covered Sam. There was his brother crouched down near the earth, the deep rich soil at his feet. And a fourteen-inch head of a snake hovering right behind him.

***

_Christmas Eve 1992_

_Okay, so he started early. It really shouldn't have surprised anyone. Girls had been knocking on his door since he was ten. Scoring phone numbers and going on "parental supervised" dates by the time he was eleven wasn't uncommon for him. Maybe he even had a reputation for sneaking into movie theaters and sitting in the back with girls a few years older. So at the age of thirteen, when he's sitting next to his girlfriend of two-weeks, it's only natural that he tried to make it to second base. _

_Christmas Eve and the Eagles were on the radio. No way he wasn't going to make it to third._

Well, I'm standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona/And such a fine sight to see

_Of course, the knee to his stomach and her braces catching his bottom lip told him what she thought about that. Dean rolled himself off the floor. _

It's a girl, my lord, in a flatbed ford/Slowing down to take a look at me

_Her name was Marita Magrane, but she went by Ritzi. A person of thirteen would think with a name like that, she'd be more willing to put out. _

Come on, baby, don't say maybe/I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.

_Dean flashed her his winning, boyish smile. He assured her with the utmost honor that she could trust him. _

We may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again/So open up I'm climbing in/So Take it easy

_She showed him. Out the door he went. She'd keep the personalized brass bracelet he'd given her – even though her name was spelled incorrectly. He'd noticed she taken her time in pointing that one out. So he left with her still rambling and headed down the street two blocks to the hole in the wall they were renting. _

_Dean wasn't going to lose any sleep over her, though. He had been watching Jeannie – couldn't remember her last name – from his fifth period study hall for the past month. She'd grown a whole cup size and he hadn't missed that she'd been watching him, too._

_He took the stairs easily, opened the screen door and let it slam behind him. _

_Silence._

"_Sam?"_

_The clock ticked above his head and Dean turned around to check the time. 6:20. Dad had told them to be home by 6:00 and that he'd be home an hour later. He was picking up KFC, a few stocking stuffers. It was supposed to be a decent Christmas this year._

_Sam should have made it home first, though. He'd only been playing outside in the street with the other neighborhood kids. _

_Then Dean remembered the husky teenagers on the corner, messing with the younger ones. Teasing them, pushing a few around. They hadn't bothered Sam, but Dean had been there. Until Ritzi showed up and then…_

_Dean walked across the street and two houses down to knock on the door. It was the Windham's – they had two kids, Jerry and Kerry. The rhyming of the names was intentional. Poor kids. Their parents were Larry and Mary. Another Mary. Every small town had at least one._

_Mary Windham opened the door and looked down at the young man. "Yes?"_

"_I'm looking for Sam."_

_She shook her head. Hadn't seen him, of course, but she yelled for Jerry who had plowed his way to the door. They were already opening up Christmas presents and the wrapping paper and boxes were tripping him up. _

"_That gang pushed him that way." Jerry pointed back up the street. "Had their mopeds out and were chasing him."_

_That did it. A gang of fourteen-year-olds and their mopeds. They were so going down. Dean shot off the Windham's porch and jogged down the street. He passed one kid – Marley's – house, knew he was in the gang and pounded on the door. _

_No answer._

_With a dozen or more swear words, the kid was off the steps and heading back down the street. It was a cul-de-sac, coming to a dead end. All that was out there were trees and the drainpipe. Dean started to turn away when he noticed the tire tracks in the mud. Too big for bicycles, too small for cars. _

"_Goddamn. Mopeds." Dean tramped through the mud and slid down the steep hill on the other side to the narrow steel opening of the drainpipe._

_Except on this particular Christmas Eve, it wasn't opened. It was clogged. Or, rather blocked, by cement cinders, bricks and rocks of all sizes. _

"_Sam?" Dean called to the handmade wall. His fingers started digging in, removing the obstacles one by one, some of them falling to his feet, smashing his toes, and ripping the skin off his fingers. _

_Inside, though, he found his brother bound by ropes, body curled within itself, rats from the sewer crawling on him._

"_Sam?" he tried again._

_Sam ignored him, though. No, not ignoring, Dean knew. Shock possibly. Humiliation definitely. Dean winced in sympathy. "Sammy…" He reached into the pipe and tried to grab at his brother. Couldn't… quite… reach. "I'm comin' in." Dean crawled through the entry. He grabbed hold of his brother's jacket only to have Sam jerk away. "Sam…"_

"_Go away." His tied hands swatted towards his brother. _

_Dean easily thwarted them. _

"_No, Sam, I'm here for you."_

"_Don't look."_

_Dean sighed and put both hands on his brother, fisting handfuls of his jacket. "I've already seen you, dipshit. Now," he started yanking Sam back the other way, "let's go."_

_They fell out of the drainpipe together, back onto the rocks and cinderblocks that had blocked Sam's exit. Dean pulled his pocketknife out and started cutting his brother loose, disregarding Sam's sniffles and whimpers. He cut the ropes at the ankles and sat back, looking at the scratched face. Claws from tiny creatures Sam couldn't fight. _

_He'd massacre them all._

"_Dad's gonna kill me," Sam looked down, his head hanging low._

"_I'm the one he's going to kill, Sam. I was s'pose to be watching you."_

_Sam's head shook back and forth. "He'll be embarrassed."_

_Dean squinted. "What? Dad?" He kicked at his brother. "Hey." Kicked him again. "Hey!"_

_Sam glanced up. "Dad's never embarrassed of us. We're his." Disappointed, yes. Angry, you bet. But embarrassed? No way._

_Dean stood up, pulling Sam up without offering, just getting him to his feet in one awkward motion. _

"_Dad's picking up Christmas," Dean announced to his brother. "So be surprised."_

_Picking up Christmas. Like it was found at the store next to the milk and butter. Sam thought about that. Maybe it was. _

"_You okay?" Dean's hand landed on the back of his neck, guiding him away from the tunnel. _

_Sam nodded. "Couldn't breathe in there. Felt like it was crushing me." Which was strange to both of them because nothing had been crushing him. But Dean thought maybe it was something more that felt crushing to his brother. Something he couldn't explain. _

"_Sorry," Sam was saying and Dean scoffed back. _

"_Shut-up. Tomorrow I'm finding those dicks and kicking their ass. Tonight, you and I we're gonna let all the air out of their tires."_

_They reached the cement again. Back to the street. Now for the crooked walk home. The Impala was parked in the driveway. Dad was already there. Sam let out a long sigh._

"_What's wrong?" Dean nudged him, even though he already knew._

_Sam shook his head. "It's just... It's Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be… it's just… not what I wanted."_

_Dean smiled down at him. "Not what you wanted?" He flicked his fingers into the air. "You. Me. Dad. We got everything we need."_

***

Early Christmas Day 2008

Dean felt the world tip to the side for a moment, fearful everything was going to slide off the map, his mind dizzying at the sight. "Sam!" he sprinted across the dead plants.

Sam was turning around, watching as his crazy brother tramped towards him through the garden. _What the hell? _

The snake floated back down to the ground and slithered without a sound under the younger hunter, it's body wrapping loosely around his boots. It slinked itself away from the man and as his body turned in his brother's direction, the snake tightened it's muscles, binding his ankles and bringing the hunter falling to the earth.

"_Chosen."_

Dean skidded on the dirt, his knees digging into the soil. "Sam!"

Sam was sitting up, his hands closing around the large scales of the snake. "I can't get it off." He tried to shift his legs, but the coils were constricting and moving up. Already to his calves.

Dean's eyes followed the snake's large body as it disappeared into the bushes ahead, it's body still retreating down, wrapping around his brother. "I'll follow it," Dean stood up, starting to walk along the body of the reptile. "And when I get to the head," he removed his Colt and brought it in front of him, "I'll shoot it."

Sam nodded. "Okay. I'll try to…" he pushed with his hands, "get loose."

Dean walked away, scanning the ground as he went farther into the garden. The bushes ahead obscured his vision and as he rounded the other side, he found no signs of the snake. He retraced his steps. No snake. He ran his hand through his hair, calming the jitters building inside.

_The things I saw. There aren't words._

Had to get his brother loose. He hiked back towards Sam again, his eyes catching the movements of scales and followed it a second time. He made it back around the bushes and looked down. No snake. He listened. It was rustling to the left of him and he turned in the direction.

_There's no forgetting. There's no making it better._

People made evil look easy. It was just a bedtime story, though. In reality, the guilt. The obsession. It could me maddening.

"Dean!"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Hurry!"

Dean looked back down. Nothing. No body. No head. _Goddamn._ Dean trekked back to the trail, trying to find the body of the great snake. Nothing there anymore either. He looked back at Sam.

Damn thing had him wrapped to his chest.

_You wouldn't understand and I could never make you understand._

"Sam?" He retreated back to his brother, who wasn't able to sit up anymore. He had fallen to his back, managing to keep his right arm free and as Dean knelt down next to him, Sam grabbed onto Dean's jacket. His hand clutching onto wetness.

"You're bleeding."

Dean shook his head. "No."

"And… sweating." He gulped in air.

"Shut-up about that right now. We gotta get you loose."

"I think," his breaths were coming out more shallow. "this is… the serpent."

Dean grabbed a hold of his brother's hand and squeezed it. "It's a snake, Sam."

Sam frowned at his brother. "A serpent is… a snake, Dean." His voice was sharp and Dean tilted his head in response. "I think this is… _the_ serpent. Like in… the bible."

Dean made a face and watched as the coils continued down his brother's body. "Okay." He let go of Sam's hand and crawled above his head. "Hold on, Sam, I'm gonna," he positioned himself over the scales, his eyes watching the muscles bind and release, "I'm gonna try something."

Sam tried to look above him, but only saw the sky changing from black to a gray-blue. "What? What're you gonna do?"

Dean pulled the Colt out and pressed it against the moving body. "I'm going to shoot it."

"Is it the head?"

"No."

"Don't shoot it."

Dean looked over at the moppy hair. "I can't find the fucking head, Sam. If I don't shoot it…"

"Don't shoot it, Dean." There was a few strangled breaths and Sam tried to look over, tried to find his brother. "It chose me. Just… go away."

His eyes burned at Sam's words. Not sure if it was anger or disappointment. Annoyance or aggravation. Pick and choose. "For Christ's sake, Sam," Dean started, pushing the barrel of the Colt against the slithering beast, "I'm not going to leave you." He pulled the trigger and for one brief second the muscles stopped, the gliding paused. Dean's mouth turned up.

Then it moved again, dragging the minimal blood loss with it. And it squeezed.

Sam let out a gasp as the coils constricted around his middle, around his chest and now around his neck.

Dean didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. He took out his Bowie knife and raised it above his head.

"Dean... don't..."

He swung down, his air releasing vigorously, breathing for both of them. The blade hit the scales, barely sliced into the snake's body, the knife bouncing back with such force, it hit Dean's shoulder.

Dean edged back to his brother's side and started pulling on the twists and curls of the snake. Had to get his brother loose. _I tried everything, that's the truth!_ He'd get his fingers to fit just right under the bunches of scales… _I tried opening the Devil's gate_… just when he started to pull back… _Hell, I tried to bargain_… the snake would compress firmly… _You were rotting in Hell for months_… making it almost impossible… _for months_… for the hunter to pry them back out again.

_So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right._

He avoided Sam's face. Refused to look up at the agony he knew was there.

"Dean…"

Dean ignored him, tracking the coils back up for the third time. This time he kept his hand on the body, feeling the way the serpent moved, feeling the motion towards his brother. He turned and looped around the dead leaves, through foliage until he returned back to his brother, his hand still stalking the body. Then, just like an illusion, it disappeared into the dark soil. Dean blinked. How long was this thing? Did it just go on and on into the ground?

"Sam, I'm not sure I can find the head." Dean glanced over to his brother. It was starting to wrap around Sam's face now. Only a matter of minutes. Dean rubbed at his chin, considering his knife again. He could start to serrate his way through it.

That's when he noticed them. Yellow-gold eyes glimmered through the leaves. Slanted and steady, cold as death.

"I found it," he said under his breath, hoping Sam would hear him.

Of course, that was part of the problem. The heartless creature had rested it's head next to Sam's. An inch closer and it would be perched on the top of the younger man's forehead.

A long slinky tongue protruded out, divided in the center, rolling towards the older man. It sputtered and fizzed as it whispered, _"Dark heart."_

Dean scrambled to his brother, watching the watchful eyes, being sure his Colt was firm in his grip, but being sure the snake was staring at him, not at the gun.

"I didn't choose," Dean spoke callously to the threat.

It's mouth opened as Dean neared, fangs twice the size of a Vampire's glistening in the gray light, jagged and oozing with venom.

Dean took advantage of the invitation and pointed the gun into the waiting mouth. The pop at this close of range was going to ring his brother's ears.

"Sorry 'bout this, Sammy," he whispered. Then part of him seemed to exit his body for a brief second. He hadn't chosen. Sam had.

He pulled the trigger. The bullet pounded into the reptile's mouth swift and on target. The crack echoed in the garden, the serpent's jaw snapped shut and it's body coiled back, a hiss and an odd yap following it.

Dean sat up taller on his knees and crowded over the maimed head. The flailing body gaped back and the bloody head punched towards Dean, it's mouth open wide. It clacked together, it's jaw already damaged, as it tried to inflict it's poison on the man. Flesh was normally easy for it to tear and it could smell fresh blood, but it's aim was off, it's top and bottom jowls not matching up any longer. Dean took advantage of the injury and brought the barrel up, pressed it over the serpent's head, pulling the trigger again.

Blood spilled from the snake in tiny veins and blooms, the red running into the soil underneath it, absorbing the life it held back into the ground. The body went slack and Dean's hands were all over it, pulling and yanking, untwining and bending until the majority of it was off Sam's body.

"You okay?" Dean was saying as he tugged.

Sam's arms pushed at the weighted dead mass that slopped over him.

Dean thought he heard an "Uh, huh" escape his brother's lips, but he wasn't sure. His chest was raising and his throat was swallowing air so he'd take that as a "yes" and chock up the hunt as another success and leave it at that.

Sam was pushing himself up to his elbows, his feet kicking in Dean's hands as he tried to get the last of the snake off his body. It was like an intestine being uncoiled from such a tight hold, untangling and unraveling, never seeming to end. Dean crawled back up to his brother when the last of it was released and put his hand under Sam's arm.

Sam rolled the other way. Away from Dean. "Don't." He turned again onto his back. "I got it."

"Just, let me help." Dean's hand went on him again.

Sam pulled his arm in as he pushed himself up. "I don't… I got it." His voice was hard. He went up to his knees and then fell back against his weight, his rear slamming the ground.

Dean stared at him, already on his knees, just looking across at the rage he struggled to conceal. "Sam, you're freaking me out."

Sam sat up more, his face battered, his soul bruised, his lungs struggling to keep airflow. "I don't want to… _freak_ you out."

They were each starting to hate that word. No matter what the context.

Dean looked on from a close distance. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam huffed. His hand pointed, gesturing towards the heap of muscle and scales to Dean's right. "A serpent just tried to eat me, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Well, yeah. I mean, besides that." He laughed a little. The absurdity of it all.

Even against the background of the gray, the light starting to filter in, the night still holding on to the black, Dean could see Sam's face was ashen. He could see his lips were blue. His brother's shoulders sank forward, looking for something to fall onto, looking for something to take his heart while he continued to fight himself.

But not asking for help. Sam wouldn't go that far.

Dean reached an arm out. No, Sam was pushing himself up and away, heading to the trail, back on the road. "Is this south?" He stumbled onto the dirt path, like a drunken frat boy. Dean looked on, his brows drawn together with worry.

"Sam, let's just rest…"

"You need to rest?" he turned on his heels, voice harsh.

Dean stood up, walked the short distance. He nodded to his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Sam turned away, staring down the path. "I think it's that way."

Dean didn't look. Just stared at him. "What're you… what're you runnin' from, Sam?"

Good and Evil wasn't enough? A serpent wasn't just cause? His own knife stabbing into his brother's chest? The dirt under their feet – which, by the way, was exactly like the one he'd covered Dean's dead body up with – _Fuck it_.

Sam Winchester started to run.

It started innocent enough. Hell, Dean had put it out there. What was he running from? He wasn't technically running from anything and then it sounded so good. It sounded so right that even though his lungs were marred and his breaths were shallow, his feet moving felt like they could carry him far away to other mystical places. Some place where he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. Where people couldn't see his pain. Or his love.

The pounding of the feet behind him was closing in though and when his face hit the dirt, he wasn't all that surprised. He still tried to struggle through the temporary holds, through the restraints, but his body was spent and his mind was mush and the goddamn rich soil felt really soft against his cheek.

"Jesus…" Dean was muttering from above, "…long legs…" His brother had him held down, Sam's hands pulled behind his back, Dean pressing his body against his. There wasn't anywhere to go but into the ground.

Sounded okay.

Neither brother said anything. Just breathed. Long, coarse, uneven breaths that lingered in the air too long. Sam scuffled twice – and only twice – his brother tightening his hold both times.

"Dean," Sam tried, "Dean, I can't… breathe."

Dean didn't budge. "If you're talking, you can breathe."

Sam closed his eyes, his lashes gathering dirt with them. His air was still coming uneven and too fast. He knew Dean felt it, too, but he didn't say anything. Sam knew all the tricks to slow it down. He'd been taking care of himself for months without his brother and he could do it now. He pursed his lips together and mimicked Dean's breathing from above him.

Dean waited him out. He felt the slowing of the inhalations. Knew Sam was pulling himself together. Knew his lungs were filling and releasing without the fear of hyperventilation or hypoxia.

Sam took a couple of cleansing breaths before speaking. When he started, his words were angry, "Get the… get off me."

No way Dean was moving. He pulled back harder as Sam bucked below him.

He was fucking trapped. It was always a bitch pulling teeth. Sam felt his cheek dig further into the ground. "I had to… bury you." He cursed himself as his voice broke and shook, words thick and stuck.

Dean nodded. Okay, this was something. Something other than the quiet. "That's all right, Sam."

"You were," his eyes slid towards the ground, closing, remembering, "so bloody."

"I know I was. I'm sorry about that."

"Had to clean you up." He opened his eyes again, thankful that he couldn't see Dean's because he didn't know if he'd be able to continue.

His older brother remembered being the one who had to do the cleaning up. It had ripped him apart as well. Ripped him so deep his heart caved and his soul bled. Dean released his hold and leaned in to his brother, comforting, not restraining, his forehead resting on Sam's right shoulder blade. "You did good. Better than me."

"There was so much dirt."

It was spoken so softly, Dean didn't know if he'd heard him correctly. Still, he nodded.

"Had… to… bury you," he repeated, this time breaking and, God, Dean needed him to break. As bad as it was, he'd take broken over volatile. Broken he could fix. Or at least die trying.

Dean's hands grasped at Sam's sides. He felt his brother's chest catch and he waited while Sam fought to keep it in. Prayed that he wouldn't. Felt his own eyes sting when Sam let the monsters go.

"You did everything you should have…"

"Broke… my promise."

"No, Sam."

"Used… psychic…"

"You did what you had to do."

"Could have… done… more."

"You were strong. So strong."

"You… went to… Hell."

Dean closed his eyes with that one. He had went to Hell to bring his brother back to him. He carried the pain and the hurt. The remembrance. It was Sam that carried the guilt.

"Couldn't... save you."

And there it was.

"Come on," Dean's hands came forward and pulled on his brother. He helped Sam sit up, knees drawn up to his chest, hands and face a filthy mess from tears and dirt and fear. He leaned his back against his brother's, their arms smashed against one another.

"You okay?"

Suck ass question. Sam rolled his eyes. What a jerk. "No."

There was a pause and Sam sniffed a few times. He stared at his hands, traced his long fingers. Dean knew that his brother was seeing something he wasn't.

Sam cleared his throat, his voice more controlled. "I'm different now."

Dean let out a small chuckle. "Yeah?" As if he hadn't noticed. "Me, too."

"You said, you said you'd want to hunt me."

Dean looked into the changing garden. Night to day. Dark to light. Sleep to awake. It had been here since the beginning of time. Changing. Staying the same. Living. No one ever tended the garden. But it went on anyway. Flowers just depended on other flowers. Trees on the plants. They only needed each other to survive.

He tugged lightly on Sam's sleeve, bringing his brother's eyes to his. He swallowed hard, feeling the dryness of his own throat. He had to choose his words carefully, not wanting them to come back and bite him later. "I was scared."

Sam's head bobbed in response and Dean let out a breath. Tough words for big men. "I was scared, too."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't, you know... scared _of_ you, Sam. Just scared _for_ you."

The younger man's shoulders shrugged up and down. "I'm scared of me."

Dean bumped into Sam, forcing his eyes up again. "Then we'll keep on working on that, okay? Nothing we can't figure out."

Sam looked away from his brother, looking down the trail, the sky casting morning light down the path. There, only a few feet ahead was the opening. The arch. The angel. Homemade arrows pointing towards them. He had been running south. He knew Dean was fevered, knew he needed to rest himself. He took another breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh.

"What?"

"I don't know. It's just… the whole dying thing. I mean, I never…" Sam eyes slid away. "I've had to let everyone in my life go."

"Yeah." Dean nodded. Understood.

"But you… it was harder some how."

"I was all you had left."

Sam didn't respond to that with words. He felt the rush of acknowledgement, though. Knew his chin was quivering and didn't care. The wonderful familiarity of family and knowing that someone in his life could understand what his pain was like. The oddity of mourning the death of a loved one and getting that person back again. For more than just one day. For every day.

Sometimes there are just no words.

"Sometimes I can't wrap my head around it," Dean broke into his thoughts. "I was dead. I was in hell. And now I'm back. Whole and new." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think when I go to sleep at night, I'll open my eyes and it will have been just a dream and I'm back there again. Everything's gone." He paused. "You're gone."

Sam took a few seconds to let that sink in. His brother being away had been so lonely for him that it burned, but for Dean, his time had been spent with plenty of company. Torturous and tormented and Sam would never be able to wrap his head around that. Around how a person can go through unmentionables and come back to earth functioning. Even if at times it was a masquerade. Dean was a wonder to him.

"You choose yourself for that snake to take, Sam?" Dean's expression was firm. He needed an honest answer.

A tear ran down his cheek, his chin bouncing to keep his emotion in check. "She said that I had…"

"Who? What?" _Don't stop now._

He took a shaky breath. "Cher said… I had the heart of darkness."

"Screw her. She said the same thing to me. We were just Monopoly pieces to her."

"I couldn't lose you again."

Well, that was honest. Dean blinked his own tears away, looking over at his broken brother. Sam would rather die than be alone again. Dean nodded to him, suddenly not able to find the words himself. He understood, though. He was willing to trade Anna for Sam and that wasn't any different. He wouldn't sell his soul, wouldn't be a martyr, but if he could still save Sam, he was willing to sacrifice most things.

He put his arm around his brother's shoulder.

"Sometimes I think," Sam had stopped crying, the tears leaving muddy streaks down his face, "I'm the curse and you're the reward."

_The second you become more trouble than you're worth. One word. One. And I will turn you to dust._

Dean stared at him. He started to contradict his brother's words, but deep inside he had wondered if it had been Sam, would angels have swooped in and pulled him from damnation.

_I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. _

Sam quieted as the world slowed and he swore he could hear it. The soft lub-dub. It sounded new, but it strummed liked it always had. Honest and pure. Sam tucked his right arm in close to his body, Dean's arm tightening his hold and through his jacket, Dean felt it. The solid lub-dub. Pumping the blood of a fighter. Of a hunter. Of something Sam refused to give into.

And Dean loved him for that.

"No, Sam. Too much good comes from you. You've rewarded so many people, saved so many lives. You're a hero."

"Don't say that."

"You are. You're hero to all the people you've helped. All the people you've saved." He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Including me."

Sam strangled out a chuckle, mixed with a lingering sob and looked down. "Christmas sucks."

Dean laughed back. "Yeah, well, don't expect much this year."

"What? No skin mags?" He watched brother, his eyes twinkled through the shine. He couldn't have admired him more.

There was a small smile returned and then it turned into a grin. "Just me."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, you said, it – I'm the reward."

It was true, though. He truly was. "I miss Dad."

Dean patted his brother's back. "Me, too."

"I always miss him at Christmas."

"I kinda miss him all the time," Dean admitted.

"Doesn't really ever get easier."

"Nope. It's always tough in the gray."

"Black and white's easier."

"Yeah, but you need all the facts, right? Can't always trust the cover. Got to get to know the book a little."

Sam smiled. "Unless it's a vengeful spirit."

"Or a pissed-off demon."

"Pagan God."

Dean suddenly noticed the proximity of their location to the front of the path. He stood up, offering his hand down to Sam. "Freaky-ass wendigo."

"Killer truck."

Dean grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Clowns."

Sam shuddered. "So not funny."

Dean started back down the dirt path. "Come on, I'll buy you breakfast."

Sam followed, he nudged his brother. "Cat in a locker."

That got a small chuckle. "Yeah, but that was scary."

Sam could still see the fine sheen of sweat clinging to his brother's brow. "First, I think you need to see a doctor."

"It's Christmas, Sam. Unless we go to the ER, the only doctor we're gonna find around here is in church."

"You lead the way, bro." Sam's hand rested on Dean's back and he found himself staring at that for a few seconds. Hadn't done that. He'd hugged his brother so tight when they first saw each other, not believing it could possibly be him. Now, with his return to being Dean, to being his brother Sam hadn't touched him. Not really.

Dean didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't mind.

They walked under the arch side by side. Forgot about even looking up. Didn't matter what the eyes that looked down said anyways. They knew what they believed and they believed what they knew. They both possessed good and evil. Just like all people. They weren't any different. Their hearts, along with the darkness, held great light.

As the Impala came into their view, they reentered the rest of the world. Joined the saints and the sinners. They had lived long enough with the supernatural to know that flesh and blood was stronger than anything they had encountered. Always would be. That they knew and that was enough to believe.

**Playlist:** _Take it Easy_ performed by the Eagles

**A/N:** That's the end. Thanks for taking the time to read and if you left a review, I'll respond. I promise. And I've never dedicated a fic to anyone, but this was for my mom – Marita Magrane - who taught me more about black and white and the gray in between than I ever gave her credit for.


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